Who We Are
by slim-chance17
Summary: Enjolras is the leader of the Les Amis. Yet, he feels inexperienced and foolish not knowing the cause through and through. He wants to learn more about the poor in order to help them. Eponine, an enchanting street thief thrusted into poverty, will show him more than he ever knew. When they fall in love, will their worlds allow them to be together? Enjolras/Eponine
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables. **

**This takes place just before the events of the film, before Enjolras is the strong, passionate leader we know him to be. **

**This is my first Les Mis fic, and I would really appreciate any opinions that you all might have. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Monsieur Enjolras seemed to have the world beneath his feet.

Or at least, that is how everyone else seemed to think of him.

In the cold darkness of the night, Enjolras sat beside his table, lit by a single dimming candle. He could not sleep, yet again. His mind recalled the events of the day that had passed. Classes, a meeting with Les Amis. Another lonely walk back home and a repeated nightmare that caused him to be driven awake in a fit of sweat and a yell.

He had many names. Fearless leader. Master Student of the Revolution. Sometimes, he did not feel any of those names he had been called. Sometimes he felt completely and utterly hopeless. He talked of change and equality, and the fight that would lead them to victory, but truthfully, there was a fear that resided deep within him. A fear that all this work would amount to nothing. A fear that there would still be people dying in the streets, starving and living life like animals. No matter what he did, there was no guarantee that they would win.

Amongst this, there was also a deep paranoia that he was being judged. Talked about. He often spoke of peace amongst the people, but he really did not know as much about them as he would like to. He himself had been fortunate enough in life to not have to live outside, or beg for food. He would fight for them, forever, but they knew just as well as he did that he could not even touch the same experience that they were currently living. Did they hate him for that?

A large exhale escaped him, and the small flame of the candle flickered against his breath. His friends believed in the cause, and would follow him. That was some comfort. The thought of failing them was simply unbearable.

The night was drawing slower and slower, and soon he had found that these heavy thoughts were causing his eyes to fall. Blowing out the light, and making his way towards the bed, he wondered if tomorrow would bring them any closer to victory.

Any closer to the world that they longed for so much.

* * *

"Enjolras, my friend, why is that handsome face so glum?"

Enjolras gently shoved Marius' arm, who stumbled and chuckled to himself.

"I'm tired. Nothing more."

"Ah, but you should be more awake. Today is a big day."

Marius' excitement barely touched Enjolras. Today they would campaign amongst the streets for followers, and spreading the word of their ideals. Most often this ended badly and without gain.

"Yes, they are all big days," he replied wearily.

Marius frowned towards him. His oldest friend, who was almost always the most spirited amongst them, had been in this depressed stupor for over a week now, and it was showing more and more everyday.

"Come on," he prompted. "Today we might actually gain some new perspective. We will travel round the back street."

Enjolras felt a shiver run down his spine. That was were the worst lived and died. The thieves, the prostitutes, the dealers… The collective. They barely listened to the campaign. It would benefit them, but they were so far down in their hope that they didn't bother to listen anymore. None of them believed it's worth.

"Perhaps a smile?" Marius prompted, wearing a hopeful grin.

Enjolras shot him a cold stare. He was not in the mood for smiling. Shrugging in return, Marius turned his back and began to walk through the thin crowds. Enjolras rolled his shoulders and tugged self-consciously on his blood red jacket.

The streets had not improved since their last visit. Whilst Marius attempted to talk with families and small groups of people, Enjolras was left with the more seedy side of things. After several dead ends of conversation, he felt himself lean against the cool, damp surface of a brick wall and sigh in dejection.

Would no-one listen to them? Where they so lost and alone that all hope had left them?

"Troubled, Monsieur?" a purred voice came behind him.

He turned, and felt his shoulders fall in disbelief. A young woman, in her thirties perhaps, was standing opposite him. One arm was placed on her incredibly thin waist, and her bony shoulders were covered in dirt and God-knows-what-else. Her face was gaunt, and hollow, and her eyes seemed clouded and pale with lack of nutrition. There was an unnerving look in her eyes as she watched him, eyeing him like a piece of meat.

"Um…" Remembering himself, he straightened his back and turned to face her directly. A gentleman he still was, no matter who he was with. "Bonjour..." He decided to skip the normal form of address. "Perhaps you have a moment or two to talk with me?"

The woman's dull eyes seemed to twinkle a little with the prospect of a client. Something which Enjolras most certainly did not want to be. She pushed herself forward from the wall and leaned forward towards the student, her breasts clearly visible over the low cut of her ratty dress. "For you Monsieur? I have all day..."

Enjolras swallowed. "I'm part of a new group, intent on creating equal lives for all the citizens France. We'd truly appreciate your support in the matter-"

His voice faded into nothing as she reached out and ran her hand slowly down his chest, grinning wickedly. He opened his mouth, ready to protest, but there was something in her face that made him silent. A kind of hidden sadness. A longing for profit, no matter what the cause. It was a look that quickly killed any arousal he might have instinctively felt at that moment.

As her hand travelled dangerously low towards his midsection, his arm flew out and caught her wrist, holding it away from himself as gently as he could.

"Please," he said softly. "Don't do that. You don't need to do that."

The prostitute looked momentarily fazed, watching him with confused eyes.

"You shouldn't need to sell yourself for money." He could feel his blood run hot with the talk of the cause. Being there, holding this woman...it was all real. She was the reason that they started this. "You could make something of yourself." Reaching up, he ran his fingers along his pin, adorned with red, blue and white frills. "This cause will help. Make you equal amongst the other communities of-" He was cut off as he found his back being shoved against the brick with unexpected force. When he'd regained himself, he looked up in shock at the woman.

She stared back at him spitefully, a vicious fire burning at the back of her eyes. "Make something of myself?! How dare you! You can take your cause and shove it! Do not look as if you are better than me! I'll rip out your _colonne vertébrale_!"

Enjolras managed to duck against the flying claws that threw towards his face. The woman did not falter, throwing herself against him in a fit of rage. He managed to resist against her, holding her back by the shoulders. His heart was beating incredibly fast, and he could barely believe that many people were passing by without a second glance.

He was not weak in the slightest, and was able to hold her away. However, her anger and fierce movements were difficult to control, and soon, something hard and fast whacked against his stomach, and Enjolras found the wind being knocked from his chest. As he crumpled to the ground, he looked up just to see the woman's hand raised and ready to strike. He couldn't even find the energy to look away as her hand came down on him.

Before her nails could disfigure his skin, a high shriek escaped her as he watched her shadow being pushed aside.

"_Perdez-vous_! Be gone! Get!" another voice yelled angrily at the prostitute. Enjolras stared in amazement as one figure was pushed into the sunlight, where she stumbled and stared in rage at the unseen stranger. After a moment's hesitation, she quickly turned and was gone in a hurry.

"Are you alright, Monsieur?" the voice asked, and Enjolras could feel a hand being gently placed on his shoulder. He managed to inhale, and slowly climbed up from the ground. He could not see the stranger's face in the shadows, but it was a woman certainly from her voice.

"Yes," he said, attempting to maintain some pride. "I didn't mean to offend her..."

"Ah, do not trouble yourself. The women of the street get violent at the slightest tick."

Growing weary of addressing a shadow, Enjolras squinted into the darkness. "Pardon me, but you are?"

The figure paused for a moment, as if debating on whether to make an appearance or not.

Soon enough, she stepped forward into the light.

Enjolras grew silent once more. Woman did not seem the correct term for who was standing in front of him. No, she was more a girl. Closer to his age than the other woman, most likely. Her body was slim and seemed weak, and her dress hung oddly on her, as if not made for her frame. Dirt dusted her cheeks and arms, and her cheeks where shallow from little food. Her dark hair hung limply around her pale face, tangled and dirty. She looked tired. Tired and hungry. It made her appear haunted and blank as she looked upon him. She did not smile at him, but simply watched his reaction to her ragged appearance.

He fixed his eyes on her face, taking her in. When he finally spoke, it was almost a shock to hear his own voice. "...Mademoiselle."

The girl quirked an eyebrow. "Monsieur."

It brought a furthur depression onto Enjolras, seeing this girl. She was frail and hungry, and yet there was something in her features that made him think that once upon a time she may have been beautiful. Happy. A sort of gentleness that grew soft in her eyes.

He chose to pursue her, as she might have interest in their idyllic future. He had no reason to be weary of her, and so he warmly smiled. "Might I know the name of my saviour?"

The urchin upturned a corner of her lips towards him. "...Eponine."

Eponine. "That's a pretty name." Enjolras blinked. Did he say that aloud? How strange. It was only supposed to be a thought.

Eponine also appeared taken aback momentarily, but she quickly recovered. He was greatful when she spoke and broke the silence. "And yours, Monsieur?"

A thought crossed his mind. Enjolras knew better than to fling his name carelessly around the street, as did the other members of Les Amis. They were careful not to let themselves be traced back. However, this girl did not look treatening. Still, he could not risk it.

Eponine did not appear fazed by his silence. "If it bothers you, then do not say," she said plainly. "But do not attempt to lie."

Her bluntless amused him, and Enjolras had to hide a grin under a stony face. "Then I shall not say."

"Very well." Her eyes searched him up and down, before letting out a sigh. It almost sounded as if she were now bored of him. "I suppose I will now leave you alone. Have a nice day."

"No, no. Don't leave." Enjolras could not stop himself. "You live here?"

Eponine took a moment, but eventually nodded, pointing across the road towards a greying, run-down building. "In there."

"How long?"

She turned and looked at him once more, this time, her eyes falling to his chest. It was several moments before she nodded her head towards him. "Are you a student, Monsieur?"

"Yes, I am."

"What is that you are wearing?"

Enjolras looked down, and caught sight of his pin. Due to some strange instinct, he reached down and gently removed it, handing it over to her for closer inspection. "It is a symbol."

He watched as she turned in between her hands, her eyes narrowed at the odd badge. "Of what?"

"A new future. A dream."

She looked up through her eyelashes at him, her eyebrows raised in question, as if she belived he were very peculiar. "Pardon my saying so, but I have dreams too, Monsieur, and you do not see me wearing a badge."

A chuckle that Enjolras could not hide warmly fell from his lips. "No, that's true."

"What is your dream?"

"Well," he started, pushing himself away from the wall. "I suppose it is of a Republic. Of a place where everyone is equal and nobody is forgotten. A place where there is no need to live on the streets and where food is available for all. That's what we're planning on bringing."

Eponine's lips twisted in thought. "How are you going to do that?"

Enjolras paused. He did not expect her to catch. She did not laugh at him, or become angry like others did. She was listening. "Really...it's...it's just about raising awareness. Getting people to fight with us. The more people who have the same ideas, the less the Authority can fight back."

Quietly, Eponine bit her lower lip. She seemed to be thinking about it, as if testing the idea in her head. Enjolras watched, entranced by her behaviour. Suddenly, she glanced up and let her lips spread into a small smile. "I like your dream."

He could not help but smile back, feeling comfortable in her company. "Thank you."

"I just have a question," she mused, her hand reaching out and returning his badge. He silently took it from her, waiting for her to speak. She was quiet for a moment, watching him as he pinned it back on his jacket. Her eyes looked wide with wonder, and Enjolras could not bring himself to look away as she gazed upon him. It seemed hours later that she actually continued. "...Why are you fighting for something that does not affect you? Clearly you do not belong on the streets. Why do you care?"

Enjolras felt an odd twisting sensation in his stomach. It was a question that he could not really answer. It was simply a feeling. A thousand thoughts that he could not bring into one sentence. There were many reasons, but none that would make sense to anyone other than him.

Eponine saw his face, and the blank stare that followed. She opened her lips, as if to speak, but was cut silent as the sound of galloping horses echoed through the streets.

A yell could be heard, and the sound of children crying out for each other rung horribly in Enjolras' ears. He leaned out of the alley, turning his head to gain a better look. He only caught sight of gold upon blue uniform before he felt himself bring pulled back into the darkness. When he looked to where he saw Eponine last, he found that she was now just inches away from him, her brow creased in panic and her feet shifting, as if to run.

"Are you stupid?!" she spat, her hands now gripping into the fabric on his shoulders. "Do not let him see you!"

"Who?"

Eponine quickly poked her head around the brick, to duck back in just seconds later. "Inspector Javert!" she breathed, her chest rising and falling in panted breaths.

Enjolras felt a tightening around his heart. He knew Javert. The cruel man who blindly handed justice wherever he deemed fit. He had no eyes for revolution or sympathy, and he hated the poor as one would hate a rat. If he and Marius were caught in this street, rallying for the cause...they would surely be jailed and everything would be lost.

Eponine watched the realisation flicker through Enjolras' eyes. He glanced down upon her, and at an attempt to comfort, he reached out and placed a gentle hand at her arm.

"I must go," he whispered. "I cannot be seen here."

She nodded quickly, and began to look around the street for any more guards that might block their way. "I will help you. Follow me-"

As she began to tug on his arm, Enjolras yanked away in a panic. He could not leave. "My friend, Marius. He-"

Eponine narrowed her eyes in irritation. "There is no time, you must go! I will bring him out." She did not allow time for Enjolras to reply, as she stuck her head around the corner and watched the street. Javert seemed distracted by a group of small street children, and was in the process of getting off his horse. She quickly pulled on his arm, and dragged him out of the alley and into the light. He was strong, much more so than she, but he allowed her to pull him across the street. "Come on!" she pleaded, moving behind him and pushing him into the space between two buildings.

She pointed down to the end. "Go down there! It will lead you to the next street. I will find your friend." Enjolras was about to speak, but she had turned her back and already disappeared out of his sight, leaving him open mouthed and with his blood pulsing.

It was very odd. She had risked herself by hiding him. Not many richer people would even attempt that. Inside, there seemed to be something warm and welcoming brewing in his heart. A kind of pride almost that this girl, caked with dirt and poverty, would be a giving person and something much more than she appeared to be. It gave him some hope. Some sense of confirmation that the revolution would bring about more freedom for these people.

Part of him wanted to go in and help her find Marius. There was a small voice, however, inside his head demanding him to stay, to trust her, to see what she was capable of doing.

Minutes later, he had found himself pacing the ground outside the small opening. At long last, he heard the sound he had been waiting for. The sound of running feet and hushed whispers. Enjolras stopped dead in his tracks and looked at the gap, waiting for a sight.

He found himself exhaling with relief as Marius ran out, followed closely by Eponine.

"Marius!" he exclaimed, held over the protection he felt for his close friend. "Were you seen?"

Marius was breathing heavily, his hands placed on his hips as he leaned over to catch his breath. "N-No. But it was close." Turning his head, he looked upon Eponine. "Thank you..."

"Eponine," Enjolras stated. It was an odd impulse, as he wanted to be the one to introduce her. It was childish perhaps, but he felt he found her first. "...Her name is Eponine."

"Thank you, Eponine."

The girl shook her head, and looked around them. "Don't thank me. Just don't get caught out again."

Marius nodded, and straightened himself. Turning to Enjolras, he had a face of tiredness. "We should go. Les Amis will be waiting."

Enjolras gave him a nod, and waved in the direction of the familiar cafe. "Yes, go. I'll meet you there."

Marius gave him a questioning look. Enjolras' lips tightened, and quickly glanced his eyes towards Eponine, who was too busy surveying the area to notice the exchange.

Marius' eyes widened. "Ah. Well then, I suppose I'll...see you there. Good afternoon, Eponine."

"Goodbye, Monsieur Marius," Eponine polietly spoke, watching as the young man turned and began walking from them.

Enjolras took the moment to turn to Eponine. "Thank you. You are very brave."

"It was nothing."

"No. It was rather a lot." After a moment's thought, he slowly reached into his pocket and fumbled around nervously. Pulling out a handful of francs, he held them out to Eponine. "Here."

Eponine stared at his hand, and her face quickly crinkled into disgust, and she stepped back, shaking her head. "I did not help you for money. Do not think that I-"

Enjolras stepped forward to match her, and softly grasped her tiny wrist in his hand. "I know. This is not payment. This is a gesture of my gratitude. Take it."

Biting down on her lip, Eponine seemed to have a moment of quiet conflict. "...Are you sure, Monsieur?"

A grin spread across his lips. "Quite."

He emptied the money into her hand and gently closed it in his. Her fingers felt cold against his skin, and roughened with the dirt and grime. Yet it did not disgust him or make him want to pull away. Eponine silently moved her hand from his, cradling the coins tightly in her palm.

"Thank you," she mildly replied.

"My pleasure, Mademoiselle." His voice was warm and smooth in the cool afternoon air. A corner of his lip upturned in a playful smirk. Inside, Enjolras was questioning himself wildly. He did not talk like this. He did not act like this, particularly not around women. He put it down to the adrenaline of the day that he was experiencing.

Eponine turned slightly, watching him carefully. When he said nothing else, she sent him one last passing gaze and began to walk away from him. He could not bring himself to tear his eyes away until she had walked the street, and turned the corner.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

**Oh gosh, thank you so much for all the reviews and follows so far. I'm glad that you're enjoying it so far. Have a nice weekend!**

* * *

"...And then, the dog ran under the dam and ignored the dancing giraffe!" Grantaire burst out into hysterical laughter at his own joke until he was red in the face, only pausing for breath and another swig of liquor.

Around the table, several faces exchanged questioning looks. Nobody really knew at what point that Grantaire had started talking nonsense, but they all sensed that it had been long ago.

In the corner of the room, just past the small group of men, Enjolras stood by the window, his arms folded tightly around himself and his head leaning against the cool pane of glass.

Focus in the meeting had been lost long ago, and he had since given up on trying to control it. Did these men; his friends, not care anymore? They first spoke of the revolution with passion in their hearts, with enthusiasm and determination at the idea. Time passing had somehow turned their minds back to drinking and joking. How he could regain control over their minds was a constant question in his head.

"Grantaire," the young medical student, Joly began. "I think perhaps the combination of brandy and wine has gone to your head. Maybe just water from now on?"

Grantaire shook his head sloppily, his eyes appearing glazed and weary. "Don't bring dullness back into the conversation, Joly. I beg you, let me enjoy myself."

"Joly is right," Enjolras suddenly spoke. His voice was strong above the relaxed voices of the others, and grasped the attention of all the Les Amis. They turned to face him in his corner, and like always, hung on his every word. Enjolras never quite understood what it was that drew them to him so much. "Grantaire, you have had far too much to drink. We need to talk about our plans for tomorrow-"

"_Mon dieu_!" Grantaire exclaimed, letting himself fall back into his seat. "You never let me have fun."

Enjolras felt the muscles in his lips twitch in agitation. "You do have fun. Every night. You drink, one of us has to assist you stumbling home, and then it all happens again. Tonight, we must focus. It has been a great while since we last had a proper discussion."

"Pfft. Who cares, Enjolras?" Grantaire replied, rolling his eyes. "These meetings never have any productivity."

Enjolras began to feel his blood boil and the drunkard. They were in there most nights, risking life and name to bring about this revolution. He stepped forward, and out of the corner of his eye, saw several of his friends move their chairs back ever so slightly. He felt his fists curl at his sides. His voice came slowly, deadly, plainly a threat. "Grantaire, put the bottle down."

"If looks could kill," he heard Courfeyrac mutter to Marius.

Grantaire matched Enjolras' glare, and after a moment of silence, he clutched the bottle tightly to his chest. "No, I shan't," he said, completely defiant.

"This is serious."

"So you say."

Enjolras found himself storming forward towards the table, ready to grab the student and throw him through the window with his bare hands. However, as he got closer, Marius stood from his seat and quickly raised a hand.

"Let us not fight tonight," he pleaded. "Perhaps this conversation is best saved for another day."

Enjolras found himself being gently pushed into a seat. His face fell into his hand, and he breathed heavily into his palm. "...Courfeyrac. You and Combeferre shall rally tomorrow. Joly, you take _Grantaire,_" he bit through gritted teeth. "And see what you can do up on the Rue du Altesse in the morning. We shall meet back here tomorrow evening."

Several nods fell about the table and small mumbles were exchanged. Enjolras found himself growing tired and almost dizzy with irritation. Of course, tonight was no better than the last.

"Now, I think," he said, slowly rising from his seat. "I shall be off. Today has been long. Good luck tomorrow, and stay safe."

A chorus of goodnights were echoed back to him, and he stayed no longer. Walking down the steps, he could hear the voices pick up, as if the fun had been kept under wraps until he had gone.

The streets were empty in the late of the night. He felt his shoulders tighten against the cool air, a large difference from the warmth inside. As his feet slowly walked across the road, the footsteps could be heard across the wind. Although he would never admit it, nights like this always left Enjolras feeling incredibly...lonely. There was not much to be said for a student with rebellion on his mind. Friends were all he had, and even they got on his nerves.

They listened to him. Hung on his words like children. Yet he felt he could not control them, and could not bring spirit and passion from them as he could when the Les Amis was just an idea. Just a dream. How he wished he could be the leader they deserved to have. He believed with every fibre of his soul that they could do great things. They were an intellegent bunch of people, and he was proud to be amongst them. They deserved a leader who knew what to do with the voice he'd been given. Who knew how to start the revolution that France deserved.

He didn't feel like he was the right man.

As he turned the corner and made his way closer to his street (he had ensured that he secured proper living space not far from the cafe in which they held their meetings), he found himself wondering why on Earth he had been pursuaded to take on Grantaire.

Oh yes...because he was one of the rare few that had allowed themselves to be pulled in.

He was no fool, and knew Grantaire did not care as much as the others about their plans. Joly often said that it was _him. _That he was the reason that they had the amount of men they did. Enjolras still found that hard to believe. Of course, Grantaire was stubborn, and a drunk, but when he was asked to do something by Enjolras, he did it. For the most part.

The world they were living in was confusing and hard, and a place where Enjolras felt lost. So full of ideas and words, and no way to bring them about.

His thoughts were distrupted when a small tapping sound was heard behind him.

Spinning around on his heel, he faced the road behind him. Nothing. Yet he felt sure he heard something.

"Anyone there?" he called. He was certainly in no mood to be robbed. "Hello?"

He waited for a moment for a response, but nothing came. Intent on getting into the warmth of his home, he quickly gave up on the notion.

He moved to turn back again, but was struck with shock when he came face to face with a figure. He stepped back instantly, his hands fisted by his side if needed.

When he focused on the face of the person, he was greatly relieved.

"Eponine?" he asked, sounding breathless.

Eponine in front of him could not contain a grin. "Are you about to fight me, Monsieur?" Her eyes dropped to his fisted hands.

He quickly relaxed and straightened himself. "Only if you were to attack me first."

"Well, rest assured."

Despite himself, Enjolras felt rather pleased that it had been her. Her image had appeared in his head several times through the day.

"What are you doing out so late? The streets are not safe."

Eponine let out a quiet breath of laughter. "Nobody would dare mess with me, Sir. Even you are scared of me."

"I was not scared," Enjolras quickly replied. "Just...unnerved."

"Hmm. If you say so."

"How did you know where I was?" he asked, suddenly curious of her appearance.

She appeared to grow sheepish more a moment, ducking her head slightly. "...I followed you."

Enjolras felt his face contort into a frown. Honestly, what else could he expect from her? Spying and secrecy was probably all she knew. However, his life was also clouded in secrecy. He did not like the idea of being followed. For God's sake, had he not noticed, she would have found out where he lived.

"Eponine..." His voice was deeper than he had intended. Yet her eyes were drawn up to him, and creased in worry of being scorned. He chose to continue. "You helped me and Marius eariler today, and I am thankful." His eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward. He found that he had to look down a little, as she was a good few inches shorter than his tall frame. "...But do not follow me again. That is not acceptable. Do you understand?"

The confidence had slipped from Eponine's face. The look that had replaced it made her look more like a child. He found that on closer inspection, she seemed incredibly slim, and he wondered that if he were to put his hands around her waist, would his fingers meet? Possibly.

Eponine's voice cracked through the silence. "I am sorry, Monsieur. It will not happen again. I just- I...had a thought."

Watching the genuine regret flood through her face, Enjolras relaxed, and let the frown disappear from his features. "Go on," he gently prompted, losing the darker tone of voice that had been there previously.

Her suddenly shy brown eyes flickered up to his, and he softly smiled at her as a sign of forgiveness.

"I realised that you never answered my question."

"Question?"

"What is it to you that we sit out here starving? Why do you care?"

Oh, yes. That question. Enjolras felt his lips twist in careful consideration. Eponine was clearly curious, and he appreciated that. Perhaps the cause had touched her and she wanted more. If so, then how could he deny her?

He turned his head towards the street that lead back to the Cafe Musain, and decided that he would much rather begin the conversation with fresh air and a clear head. When he turned back, he lifted his hand and gestured to the road ahead of them. "Walk with me, Eponine?"

* * *

"Are you rich?"

"Not really."

"Pardon my asking," Eponine said sheepishly. "It's just that..."

Enjolras looked towards her. The two had walked for what seemed like ages. They had made their way from the familiar streets that they see everyday to the less travelled parts of the town, and had quietly made their way though the upper class streets without being spotted. It was rather pleasant, they both agreed. The bright moonlight had cast a lovely light over the roads in which they walked, and the warm yellow glows from within windows made the cold streets feel welcoming.

"It's just that?" he prompted.

Eponine rung her hands together as they paced beside each other. "Well, you do not look poor. You look rather the opposite."

"What do I look like?"

"You look like you have a grace. A power that people with money have."

Enjolras shook his head. "No. My parents have money. I have a certain allowance from them for living and studies. Although I use more of it for the cause than I do for myself. I can live simply."

"My parents used to have money as well. Not a lot, but enough to live on."

"What happened?"

Eponine's brow furrowed in thought. "We didn't make money in honest ways. My parents owned an inn and were constantly scamming people. Eventually, word spread and people caught on. Eventually, nobody decided to come anymore. I was still quite young when we came here."

"It's an awful thing to lose everything. Even for dishonest people. Although I doubt that you are one."

Eponine let out a dry laugh. "Don't be so sure. Even I have sunk low. It's hard to survive. I'm a good thief, you know. My father taught me."

"Eponine..." He had been about to scold her, but quickly remembered that it was all she knew. It was the only way to stay alive. It was not really her fault.

"I don't do it as much now."

"I suppose that's good."

A moment's hesitation was broken as she quietly asked, "Are you going to answer my question now?"

Enjolras could not hold back the sigh that escaped him. "Eponine, I don't know. It's a very difficult question."

"Just try your best."

"The idea of a Republic...it's all I've known. When I was a child, I could not understand why the other children on my street didn't seem to care that there were others without homes, without food. My parents never answered my questions. They just told me to ignore it, and that it was better not to pity the poor." He found himself grimacing at the memories. "When I grew up, I realised that I could not sit by and let others die around me. It didn't seem fair. I was so angry at the world. Everyone who had the power to do something would not. I quickly learned that a place where everyone was treated equal and had even chances would be far better than the way we are now. When I left home to study, I met the others. I spent forever convincing them about the wrong in the world. Some of them agreed with me. Some didn't. But now, we have enough. Our group is small, and a little lost, but we do have the power to bring about change."

"I wish there were more people like you," She longingly breathed. "Who noticed things. Who didn't just ignore the wrong in the world."

Enjolras felt confused toward her reply. "So, you do not think I am stupid for believing that we can do this?"

"Not at all. I think you are very brave. I think you can do it if you really tried."

The conversation quickly died into silence after she spoke. There was a feeling in his shoulders, as if a horrible weight had been lifted. He felt relief at her belief in him.

Without even noticing, they had managed to find their way to the _Pont Neuf _bridge.

It was only when they reached the beginning of the bridge that he felt a sudden disturbance in his otherwise calm mood. As he walked, he quickly realised that Eponine was no longer beside him, and he turned to see her still standing outside the bridge, not stepping even close. "What's the matter?"

Her lips were anxiously twisted. "...I cannot cross there," she spoke quietly. "That side of the bridge is where Javert and his men are based."

For some strange reason, the fear in her voice greatly bothered Enjolras. It did not suit her, and the way the emotion fell from her lips aggitated him. How does one person strike worry into another like this? Javert was nothing but a man, and yet the poor people were deeply afraid of him. They feared authority of any kind. The thought brought a fire to his veins that made him uncomfortable. He wanted to show her that there was nothing to be worried about, and that a certain kind of person should not restrict anyone in anyway. "Then we shall go halfway."

She backed away a few small steps, as if the floor of the bridge was made of acid. "But if I am seen-"

He began to feel a small breeze of annoyance, as if he were trying to pursuade a child. "Eponine, there is no-one around. It is late." Her fearful eyes did not change, and he suddenly felt quite shameful at his unreasonable irritation. Of course she was afraid; it had been bred into her whilst living on the streets. In a change of approach, he reached out carefully and wrapped his fingers around her thin wrist. He could feel her pulse beating rapidly as his thumb brushed over the delicate skin. His lips spread slightly into a small smile of reassurance. His normally harsh eyes softened in her direction. "I won't let anything happen to you."

She looked doubtful for a moment. However, she did not pull her hand away, and slowly allowed herself to be pulled onto the bridge. Enjolras walked by her side, and neither thought to seperate his warm fingers from her wrist. She wondered how his blood could still run warm, even in the cold air of the night.

In an attempt to keep her mind from her worries, Enjolras decided to become as questioning as she had been during their time together. Time to return the inquisition.

"Do you live with your family, Eponine?" His voice was gentle, and a little hesitant. As the words left his mouth, he wondered whether it was the right thing to ask. Perhaps that was too personal.

However, Eponine looked unaffected, and simply lifted her petite shoulders in a shrug. "I suppose. Although they are not always around. I do not always go home to them."

"Why is that?"

"They are not always the best company to keep." She turned to him, and looked curious as ever. "What about you? Do you live with your family?"

Enjolras decided to look away from her. He knew the look in his eyes that appeared at the thought of his family. He very much knew about the small twitch of grimace at the thought of their views. He hated the way his brow furrowed in frustration at the memory of how they left things. This was a look he did not want Eponine to see. "No."

He was glad when she did not further prompt him. Instead, she took the break of silence between them and used it to let her mind wonder. Something caught her eye, and Enjolras felt his hand being tugged as she began to move quickly. "Oh look!" she exclaimed, her voice shrill in excitement.

He allowed himself to be pulled to the stone edges along the bridge, where the river beneath them ran out into a large pool of silver water.

Eponine lifted herself up, placing her feet on the bottom of the metal railing and using her arms to hoist herself for a better view.

Enjolras quickly dropped his hand from her arm and placed it along with the other just above her waist, holding her down firmly. "Careful," he murmured softly.

At his touch, she looked down upon him. "You don't need to hold me, Sir," she instructed, and patted the space next to her. "You must see! Look!"

He frowned in her direction, but she did not see. Despite his concerns, he was very curious as to what she found to be so amazing. Slowly, his hands slid from her body, and he copied her movements, hoisting himself up against the stone edge just an arm's reach away from her. Just in case.

When he looked down, he wondered why on Earth Eponine had found the sight so marvellous. Below them, three small boats were floating quaintly along the water, each lit by warm yellow glows from lanterns hanging in the front. It was not as if he'd never seen a boat before.

Beside him, Eponine folded her arms and let her head lean into them. "Isn't it beautiful?" she breathed. "Imagine that. Being able to just sail across the water like that."

"I suppose," he replied in return with a shrug.

"If I had a boat, I don't think I'd simply stop at the river. I'd keep going-" She sat up suddenly, her arm reaching out to point across the water. "All across the sea." Her head span wildly towards him, her eyes wide and sparkling as her imagination took hold. "And you could come with me! I'd need someone intelligent like you to handle the logical side of things."

Enjolras quirked an eyebrow in question. "You'd like to live on the seas?"

"Oh yes. You'd never go hungry, eating freshly cooked fish all day. You'd never run out of water, as you'd be floating on it!"

"You can't drink seawater, Eponine. There's too high a salt content."

In return, she rolled her eyes and tutted at herself. "This is exactly why you need to come with me. Who else would tell me that?"

A pleasant, low chuckle escaped Enjolras.

As they both fell silent and Eponine's attention was once again returned to the boats below, he could not help but to silently watch her.

It was strange. He had seen eyes of the poor before, but they had always seemed clouded and dull after years of hardship. Yet Eponine's eyes were now bright and wide in an almost child-like wonder. She barely noticed as he observed her carefully, learning her features.

There was an odd feeling in the back of his mind. Something that made him feel content in where they were. Simply standing there by the river in silence. He began to notice things that he never even began to think about with any other person he'd ever encountered. Her skin was darkened with dirt in some places, but was a rather lovely pale shade that he thought made her look a little like a china doll. The essence of dimples could still be seen by her lips, and were made more obvious as she grinned at the sight below.

Yes, there was definitely beauty in her. It had been hidden, pushed away fiercely, but it was there.

Her hair looked unkept, hanging in loose tangles past her shoulders. It clearly had not been washed, but then again, it framed her face nicely in a dark mess that matched her. Remembering his days before the rebellion, Enjolras thought about the times that his family had tried to push him as a suitor to richer girls. All pink-cheeked and blonde haired, adorned with pearls and frills. Nothing to them. Nothing like Eponine.

He could not help but smile softly at her. There was something utterly mezmerising about her. An entriuging charisma that she appeared to carry. The constant questions, her excitement over such a small thing as boats on a river. He had known her only for a day, and still he felt he knew parts of her. She was brave, and strong. Curious and street-wise. He only hoped that he would see her more after the night would pass. He wanted to know more about her, who she was, and who she could be.

Underneath them, the amber lights from the lit boats reflect in the glassy silver water, and he can see them dotted in her eyes like stars.

He could have fixated on her all night, but he was quickly taken back when she turned and caught his eyes. He'd hoped that she wasn't aware of his constant observation, but she didn't seem to notice.

She leaned forward to him, her lips curling in mischief. "Monsieur, I have an idea."

"Oh? Tell me."

"You must listen."

"I promise."

"You want to learn more about us. The poor and the dying ,yes?"

"Yes."

"And you want to start a revolution?"

No, he did not want to start a revolution. He had to. He _longed_ to. It was a need buried so deep inside his soul that he wondered if it was something he was born to do. But he could not explain this to her, and so he simply nodded. "Very much."

Eponine began to grin with a sense of pride. "Then I shall help."

"...I don't know what you will be able to do."

"Trust me." She lowered herself down from the edge, and jumped onto the ground. "I shall help you," she declared. "I will teach you about us. What it is truly like on the streets. You will see more than you ever thought you could. And along the way, I shall help you become the leader you want to be."

Enjolras had to keep himself from snorting in self-loathing. Many times he had attempted to live up to who he should be, with no success. "I don't know how you think you can-"

"Monsieur," she cut in. Stepping forward, she was soon just inches away from him, and he found himself silenced. "You are...brilliant. I can tell." Ambition shone in her eyes as she spoke. "There is passion and fire behind your eyes. Right there. But it is hidden behind a frightened boy that doesn't know what to do. Somewhere inside is a strong, determined revolutionary, and I will help you find him."

"Eponine..."

"5 days," she said, her voice taking on a pleading tone. "Just give me that."

Enjolras fell quiet. How he wished that anyone could help him. Nobody ever seemed to bring out the fire in his belly that he felt everytime he passed a dying or begging person. Everytime he heard the rich sniggering at the low and dirty. He could never bring it to words.

However, there was Eponine. She had shown capability of encapsulating and bringing out strange thoughts and feelings in him that he never knew existed. If there was anyone who had a hope of helping him become the leader he wanted to be, then it was her. Surely there would be no harm in trying?

He thought about what she was offering. She could teach him more about what was lying in the streets, who was caught and held in poverty. Maybe this way he could truly inspire the Les Amis. Perhaps this was the kick in the teeth he had been hoping for.

Besides, if he were to agree to a 'teaching' of sorts...he could see Eponine a little more. Curiousity was after all always a weakness for him. "...Very well."

Eponine's lips spread wider after hearing his agreement. "But on one exchange," she quickly said.

"Being?"

He watched as her head tilted to the side slightly, and her lips parted to speak. There was a creasing in her eyes, as if she were scrutinizing him. "...You tell me your name."

Enjolras believed that this point that he could share his name without any danger. But then again, where would be the fun in that? Eponine had managed to have him follow her around like a dog for the last hour or so. This would be his leverage. He crossed his arms around his chest, and tilted his chin upwards to the sky, attempting to hide the grin slowly appearing. "If you want my name, you must earn it."

Eponine let out a small burst of sweet laughter. She dropped her head and shook it to herself, as if in on some private joke. "I will see you tomorrow," she said. Glancing at him once more, she slowly turned and reached down to her dress, lifting it up just above her ankles. Without warning, she suddenly began to hurry away, just turning once more to call, "Outside the _Rue Saint-Denis_! Early!"

He was speechless as he watched her figure disappear into the darkness, running back from where they came. As the sound of silence floated through the air, he found himself shaking his head.

What had he got himself into?


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

**Many thanks for all the amazing reviews! I hope you enjoy this, and I'll next update probably sometime the week after the next as I'm quite busy until then. But good stuff to come!**

* * *

_Day 1_

* * *

Enjolras was not a patient man.

He had been waiting at the instructed meeting spot since early morning, and had been there since the sky was still an amber glow and the sunlight was creeping over the uneven rooftops. People were slowly beginning their day, moving about with the quiet somber mood that the start of the day always was. He had found himself in the corner, silently observing the lazy start to the morning.

His arms were folded around his chest, whilst his legs stuck out against the ground as he leaned against a brick wall. Discomfort grew in him like a virus. His clothing felt constrictive, his shoulders seemed tight, and there was a ringlet of blonde hair that fell in his left eye which he could not seem to rid of.

He wondered if perhaps that Eponine had decided not to show. Of course, he would put his trust in her. A thief, a gamine, someone who he knew nothing of, and expected her to help him with his own pitiful problems. Yet, there was a small part of him that still believed that she had meant what she had said. A part of him that wanted him to trust her.

A small tap of a finger on his shoulder alerted him to a presence behind him. Unfolding his arms, he turned and caught the chocolate eyes of his urchin friend. Upon seeing her, the annoyance that he had felt from her lateness had begun to pump through his veins, and he had every intention of scolding her for making him wait. However, as his eyes fell upon her face, he noticed a fault that had not been there the previous day.

A dark purple mark had appeared on her right cheek overnight. Not large, but enough to be noticeable. Just under her eye, the mark stuck out to him like a sore, and on some strange instinct, he stooped his shoulders to get a closer inspection.

"Your face-" he started, and could feel his hand beside his hip begin to move, as if to reach for it.

Eponine ducked her head down. "Yes. I know, awfully ugly, isn't it?"

He felt words die on his lips. Pointing it out might make her upset. Maybe she had intended to try and forget it was there. He kept his hand firmly in place, and ignored the strange tugging sensation in his stomach when he could not reach up and touch her cheek. Friendly concern, yes, of course. That's what it must have been. Making the decision to avoid the subject for her sake, he offered a small smile that tugged at his lips, yet did not quite reach his eyes.

When she could not hear him pressing the subject, she looked up towards him. "You are right on time," she said, wearing a smile that revealed her teeth.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I wasn't sure if you'd show at all."

"That would be a waste of both our time," he countered, a subtle hint towards her lateness that he could not withold."So? What are we going to do today?"

"First of all, you must not think of this as a lesson. I am no teacher."

Enjolras looked at her in question. He was aware of the fact that he was in no place to judge her methods as she had kindly offered her help, but he had deeply hoped that he wasn't just being taken a fool for. This was supposed to be a time that was worth his while. Despite this, he forced down his doubts and sent her a nod. "...Alright."

"We are simply going to go for a walk. Anything you pick up on in that time is up to you."

"Right."

Her eyes flickered onto his face, and down once, very briefly. "Don't you look handsome today, Monsieur?" she observed. She took a small step back, her hand moving up to her lips, as if she were in deep thought. "Although, perhaps this is not the right time to look so put together."

Enjolras looked down at himself. "What do you mean?"

She let a small trickle of laugher fall from her lips. "The poor people won't respond to you if you look so smart. They're frightened by the rich, intimidated by them. You must make yourself more approachable if you want to connect with them."

He couldn't fathom what she was suggesting. Nobody else had ever commented on his clothing before. His apperance was not exactly the soul of his entire being. Today, he had chosen his dark burgundy jacket, a simple white shirt, and a plain waistcoat. He felt incredibly under scrutiny as Eponine stood and observed him. "This is how I always look," he said, not liking the defencive tone that made him sound a little childish.

In return, she grinned and stepped forward once more. "Let me show you."

Opening his lips to speak, he found himself struck dumb as her hands were suddenly on him, slipping his jacket from his shoulders and tugging it down his arms. In such close proxemity, Enjolras wondered whether she found his as strange as he did. But then again, he had not been this close to a woman since...a long, long time. He put it down to being an instinctive, male reaction.

At least, he hoped that's what it was.

As she'd removed his jacket, he quickly felt exposed, and moved his head around to see whether anyone had been watching the odd pair conversing. Nobody seemed to mind them however, going about their business. When he looked back, Eponine had his jacket in her hands, and was moving away from him.

"Eponine-"

She rolled her eyes before he could continue, and shrugged her shoulders. "Relax. I will not lose this-" Holding it up in front of her, pinched between her finger and thumb, she looked at it as if it were some disgusting animal. "-Although I think perhaps it needs to be lost."

"I like it," he retorted. He would not take judgement about fashion from someone who probably had just one thing to wear.

"I'm sure you do," she said, patronisation lacing her voice. Within moments, she had moved and disappeared from his view, and he wondered whether she was some strange, mystical creature. She seemed to disappear and come back as she pleased.

Her nimble fingers were close to him then, reaching up and loosening his cravat from it's previously neat knot. Swallowing became a difficult, almost painful sensation when she tugged it away from his shirt. Her fingertips felt like ice when she pushed his collar apart to expose his neck more; cold but precise in their working.

He all but stumbled backwards when she reached up and ruffled her hands through his hair once-over. It was then that she took a step back, her bottom lip pursed in reflection at her work.

Her lips perked up at the sight. "Perfect." Enjolras felt as speechless as he would be if he had just been attacked by wild dogs. Such a strange mind she had; no boundries or hesitations. As she gazed towards him, the smile faded slightly from her lips. "...Interesting," she mused.

"What?"

After a moment, she shook her head to herself. "Nothing." She turned with agility on her feet and nodded towards a crowded path. "Let's go."

* * *

There were very few places that Enjolras had never set foot in during his time living in the city. However, he had hoped that this walk would lead him someplace he never knew of.

Yet, as they talked and gently made their way around the crowds of people that occupied the streets, he found that they wound up at a place that he had passed almost every week.

It was almost frustrating to him that he had arrived at the very familiar _Bastille_.

When Eponine arrived to a stop just under the Éléphant de la Bastille, she looked at him and watched his face contort into the dejected, tired expression that he made so many times around her, like a parent telling off a child.

"Eponine, is there a point in us being here?" he asked, thinking of all the things he could be doing that would be worthwhile.

"Just wait." Without waiting for a response, she turned her back to him and faced towards the statue. She took her fingers and placed them between her lips, and with a large inhale, let out a loud, high whistle.

Enjolras blinked at the sound. Never before had he seen someone whistle like that before.

"Gaveroche!" she called. "_Sortez maintenant_!"

A small boy crawled out from under an opening in the bottom of the statue. Enjolras stepped back, question playing on his features.

The boy crawled along the ground, ignoring the dirt and rough substances that stained his hands and clothing. Once in the open, he jumped up from the ground, and smiled a large, wonky-toothed grin towards Eponine.

"_Bonjour_, Ep!" he greeted.

Eponine knelt on the gritty ground and opened her arms to him. The boy ran into her arms, and the two smiled widely as they embraced. The scene confused Enjolras, but brought him joy also. The two were happy in each other's company, despite their states. Eponine grabbed the boy's shoulders and turned him to face Enjolras, grinning towards him.

"Gavroche," she began, pride evident in her voice. "This is my friend. Isn't he wonderful?"

The boy, Gavroche, with messy blonde hair and a dirty face looked towards him with a judgemental eye. "I suppose."

"Be nice. He is not one of _them_." She looked towards Enjolras. "He's a _révolutionnaire_."

The boy, who had been watching him suspitiously up until that point, let his eyes widen in admiration, as if he were in the presence of someone great. "Are you the ones with the badges?"

Enjolras nodded. "Indeed we are."

"I've seen you lot 'round. We're on your side, we are."

"We?"

Gavroche nodded, and turned his back to face the statue. He cupped his hands around his mouth and cried out, "Come down, _mes garçons_!"

There were more? Enjolras turned his eye to the sky as he watched small figures poke their heads out of the holes in the statue. They quickly disappeared, and soon crawled out of the bottom, just as Gaveroche had done.

They were both in complete disarray. One was wearing a small hat with a large gap in the stitching (Enjolras did not see the point in wearing a hat that would not keep you warm, but he chose not to say anything), whilst the other stood with no shoes on his feet. They looked tired, and incredibly malnourished, their faces thin and aged more so than young boys should look.

He looked to Gavroche then. His clothes looked too small for him, and again, his frame was weak and feeble. Nothing looked right on them. He thought back to Les Amis. How he wished they could see this! See who they were campaining for. This poor, hungry children that spent their days on the streets.

He did not miss Eponine watching him carefully as he studied them, awaiting his reaction of either disgust or inspiration.

No part of him wanted to be disgusted. The only negative feelings that flooded his heart were pity and shame. He swallowed them both down as he extended his arm towards the children. "_Bonjour_, boys," he said, his voice sounding as warm as it could have.

The two boys looked at each other, both hesitant to reach out and shake his hand. It took a while for anyone to respond, and Enjolras began to feel foolish. But as he was about to let his arm fall, a small hand shot out and shook firmly. Gavroche had stepped in front of him and promptly taken his hand, his mouth wide and grinning.

Eponine giggled beside him, and the sound instantly made him forget about all awkwardness that had occured in the past few moments.

The other two boys (who he quickly learnt to be Leandre and Devry) were not as trusting as Gavroche. They did not speak to him much, and made sure to keep their distance, watching him like hawks in case he were to strike or yell. How obsurd it made him feel. For them to think that he was the kind of man to hurt a child was a riddle in his mind. He did not want them to be afraid of him. He wanted to show them that they could be treated well at the hands of someone of a higher status. He longed for them not to be afraid.

Eponine didn't question him when he promised that he would return in a minute, and disappeared around the street. Not one soul payed him mind when he quickly made his way to the nearest bakery. Only the man behind the counter cocked an eyebrow towards his disorderly apperance, but quickly hid it when Enjolras handed him his money and practically dashed out of the shop door.

The others were were he left them, sitting absent-mindedly around a fountain, the children dipping their hands into the water and grinning at the ripples that were made. He walked straight upto them, and handed Eponine the warm, prestine white packet.

She looked up at him in question, but tugged on the string to reveal the fresh treats. Never before had Enjolras seen such a reaction to food. The children moved closer, as if drawn to it, and cast their eyes hungrily down to the - hot cross buns. Their mouths fell agape in amazement, and he could practically see the saliva drooling from their lips as the steam rose tantalisingly into the air.

In a split second, a small hand flew out and grasped one of the buns and yanked it back. No sooner than it had been done, Eponine struck Gavroche around the head.

"_Vous petit cochon_!" she scoulded, her eyes narrowed in anger. "Thank the Monsieur before you eat!"

"Thank you, Sir!" he promptly said, rubbing the side of his head in annoyance. "Thank you!"

The other two boys gazed up at Enjolras, as if he were inhuman. "Thank you," they whispered, almost inaudible over the hustle and bustle of the busy street.

"Don't just sit there, eat!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, the three children reached down and claimed a bun, quickly ravishing it as soon as it touched their lips. Groans and hums of appreciation echoed from them, and they sat with large grins on their faces as their cheeks filled with the delicious pastry.

When Enjolras saw Eponine sitting there quietly, her mouth dry and empty, he frowned. "Eponine, there is one for you."

She shrugged. "They can have it. I am not hungry."

Of course, that was a severe lie, as anyone could see through her thin waist and shallow collarbones that she had not eaten for days. But he wouldn't put it past her to give the children her food for the sake of their hungry stomachs.

"Go on, have something. Or I will be forced to go and buy more."

Eponine glanced at him with doubt written across her face. She did not believe him. But he maintained his stern gaze until she eventually succumbed to the tantalizing smell wafting up from the freshly baked goods, and grabbed one for herself. He watched as she tried to pace herself, taking small nibbles at first, but eventually finishing the whole thing in large bites.

Enjolras could not deny the small swell of satisfaction in his heart at watching them eat. If only they could live in a world where food like this was available to them at all times, not just when bought for them. He forced himself to press the political thoughts at bay, and threatened his own mind to enjoy himself without worry for once in a while.

After they had eaten, the children seemed a lot more comfortable in his company. They proudly exhibited their elephant (their home, he was amazed to find) and told him of all the imaginary games they played.

For the next hour or so, Enjolras seemed to forget. He neglected to fill his head with worries about himself or the pain of others. It was simply filled with laughter and with fun, something which he had long forgot.

Somehow, he had been roped into a game of what the boys called Blind Man's Bluff. Admittedly, he hadn't quite fancied the idea of running around blind folded in front of others, but it had proved more fun that he had thought.

When it was Gavroche's turn, Enjolras stepped back to catch his breath beside Eponine, who was shifting on her feet, ready to run. It was considered cheating, but of course, it would be expected of her.

"Having fun, Sir?" she asked, sounding breathless.

He could not withold the excited laughter that escaped. "More than I've had in a long time."

They watched as Gavroche stumbled around aimlessly with material ripped from his own jacket, his arms outstretched to catch hold of someone.

Enjolras was so distracted with readying his escape, that he almost didn't notice the boy stumbling backwards and colliding into a man walking behind him.

Gavroche tumbled to the ground before him, and lifted up the 'blindfold' in a hurry.

The man towering over him was stern in the face, his cheeks pink from the light exersize. His stomach protruded far ahead of him, and a thick mustache covered his upper lip. It was clear from his smart clothes and rich fabrics that he was of a considerably higher class, and it showed. The man's face contorted into disgust at the fallen child.

"Watch we're you're going!" the man snapped, stepping back from Gavroche quickly, as if he were a vermin.

Gavroche gave a small frown, but climbed back up from the ground and brushed the dirt from his clothes. "Sorry." As the gentleman turned around hastily, Gavroche ducked his head and muttered to himself, "For your getting in my way."

As he stepped away, a hand reached out and caught his ear, yanking him back in his spot. Soon, he was face-to-face with the red cheeked man, who was glaring down at him furiously. "What did you say, boy!?"

"Oi! Get off!" Gavroche cried in pain, scrambling frantically against the stranger's hold.

Enjolras, hearing the commotion, turned and saw the scene. Within moments, he was racing towards the two.

"Excuse me, Gentlemen," he interveined. "Is there a problem?"

The man looked towards Enjolras with a quirked brow. "It is none of your business, _garçon_. This boy is under my hand."

He appeared to lift Gavroche furthur from the ground, causing the boy to let out a anguished yelp. The sound made Enjolras' stomach build with heat. Any intention he had of coming over and polietly exchanging apologies had disappeared in a cloud of contempt. How could this man lay his hands so harshly on a young boy like that?

His jaw tightened as he addressed him. "Excuse me, _Sir,_" he said through gritted teeth. "But this young boy is a friend of mine. I hardly think it proper for you to injure him. Unless of course, you want to speak to the authorities."

"They'd hardly care about a _gamin_ such as this."

"Would you like to test that theory?"

The man glared at Enjolras. It was clear by his winkled features and unfit breaths that he was older than the student, but there was certainly a weight of power in Enjolras' stare. He watched the man carefully, daring him to pursue his anger towards the boy. After a moment that seemed to draw into a tense hour or two, the man let his eyes drop unwillingly to the urchin by his hand. "...It's not worth my time. Be off with you now." He gave Gavroche one more warning glare, before releasing his ear and letting out a large huff of air. He turned and left them, and Gavroche rubbed his ear gently as he moved to Enjolras.

"Thank you, Monsieur," he grumbled, sending a small pout in the direction the man had gone.

Looking down at the boy, Enjolras felt his face soften. "Do you get that a lot?"

"Sometimes."

"You shouldn't stand for it."

"What else can I do?" Gavroche shrugged. He moved to sit on the stone edge of the fountain, his legs short enough to swing over the side. Enjolras let his curiousity tug him there, and he sat himself down next to the boy.

"You can change things."

Gavroche looked up toward him, his eyes bright and wide in pure admiration. "Like you? That's what you're doing."

The boy looked up at him like a hero, and it was all it took for Enjolras not to laugh at himself. "That's what I'm trying to do, yes."

"I think it's a great idea. Brilliant. Yes, brilliant." The lad had excitement in his voice, and he swung himself around on his seat quickly to face Enjolras in full. "What are your stratagies?"

Enjolras had not the strength nor the mental energy to explain the entirety of their plans to the boy. He did, however, simplify their aims for him. After all, it was rare an occasion such as this, in which he saw a genuine interest in the cause. "Rally the people for now. The more we get on our side, the bigger the impact."

"Good luck against Javert and the guards," came a small scoff in reply.

"We have General Lamarque on our side. He understands what we're fighting for."

"Good point." Gavroche dropped his eyes to the ground in deep thought. After a moment of silent deliberation, his head shot back up again, staring up at the older man with determination. "Can I join?"

The request was unexpected. It was an idea that made Enjolras want to laugh and fall silent all at once. "Join. You mean _us_?" he echoed, wondering whether the boy had actually seen them up close. Had he caught sight of someone like Grantaire, he might not think the idea so appealing. When he only recieved an enthusiastic nod in return, he forced himself to set his face in a stare of seriousness. "Well...this isn't a game, Gavroche. It's dangerous."

"That's what makes it so important!" There was a passion in his voice, and Enjolras knew it well. He had heard it, spoke it in his own words in a time that seemed like long ago. It had somehow been lost in a maze of dead ends and disappointments since then. In the heat of the moment, Gavroche jumped from his seat and stood on the edge, towering above Enjolras like a glorious monument. "You need someone on the inside. Someone who can feed the information from the streets to the revolutionaries."

"You want to be a spy."

"I can fight, too." To indulge his point, Gavroche slammed a fist into an open palm, wearing a smile that bore his yellowed teeth. "I bet I'd be good at firing guns if you gave me one."

"You'll be having no guns on my watch," Enjolras sternly interjected, not enjoying the image of the small lad sporting a large musket.

Realisation struck Gavroche's face quickly, and he jumped down back onto his seat, his excited face just feet away from Enjolras'. "You mean I'm in?!"

"Alright, let's not get ahead of ourselves. You would be useful. I suppose there would be no harm in your help." To regain attention that that now lost in the boy's imagination, he reached out and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. "But you shall earn your place. Prove yourself first."

"Deal, Monsieur." Gavroche stuck a small hand out, and as Enjolras took it, they shook firmly with all the nature of a legal contract. Binding and honest.

With nothing more to say, Gavroche jumped onto the ground and hurried away, undoubtedly to brag to his friends about his new 'job' so to speak.

Enjolras didn't quite understand how he had been coaxed by a small boy into letting him join their quest. Then again, a new set of eyes was always of interest. Perhaps they could use him to their advantage. Gavroche clearly wanted to learn more, and he very much seemed to love the idea of a new dawn for the poor. He was the spark that he had been looking for to light the Les Amis aflame.

In the corner of his eye, he saw a new figure move to sit near him. He moved his head and was glad to see that it was Eponine, who had a grateful smile pulling at her lips. "That was nice of you," she said, placing herself next to him. "He's always had his head filled with war games, that one."

Enjolras felt his brow furrow. "Hopefully this won't be a war that he need be involved in. How long have you known him for?"

In return, she released a sweet breath of laughter into the air. "Since birth, unfortunately."

"So you're friends with his family?"

As the words left his mouth, Eponine turned to him with a quirked brow. Her lips grew in a mischievous manner, as if she knew something great that he did not.

"He's my brother," she eventually said, her voice softened with truth.

"He-" He directed his eyes to where the boys were playing. The little blonde thing had no physical resemblance to Eponine. However, there should have been hints in their behaviour. The same sharp tongue, the same eyes that shone with excitement and glee. Now that he thought about it, he could imagine that they had the same theivery skills. He supposed something like that would run in the family. "Oh. But you don't live together?"

"No. He lives here with the boys."

"And they..."

"They have no homes. Just here."

"That's..." No positive thoughts could come to mind. There could be nothing pleasent about living on the streets, away from your family. Every fibre of his mind wanted to ask about their situation, but every instinct was telling him that it was none of his concern, nor his business. He called for a drastic change in subject, and promptly decided that sitting down for as long as he did had let his tiredness catch up with him. The morning spent playing and enjoying himself had taken it's toll on his weary mind. "I should be getting back to Les Amis."

As he rose from his seat, Eponine stood beside him. He could swear that he saw her yank her hair over her shoulders, and maybe even adjust her dress sleeves a little. "I hope that the day wasn't too tedious, Monsieur. Perhaps you've learned something."

He felt that the day had provided him with many new sights. The children of the street pouring over food that some people have made for them specially every day. Arrogent men that insult and harshly handle children that wear dirt on their faces. "I've learned a few things, Eponine," he quietly mused under his breath. "Will I meet you back here tomorrow?"

"No." As he inspected her face, he saw that she begain searching the scene for the children, which had now disappeared. Her voice suddenly began rambling off directions that he struggled to absorb through her fast tone. "Down at the _Rue de la Chanverrerie_, there's a sideroad that will lead you to a building with red bricks and a broken bottom left window. Go into it, and walk up to Apartment 22. I'll be waiting there."

He blinked in response. "Very well." As her feet began to shift, suggesting her leaving, he quickly moved before her and held his hand up to stop her. "Bring me back my jacket, Eponine," he instructed, a corner of his lip upturned in a light-hearted smirk.

Eponine grinned at him wickedly, and suddenly scoured her eyes around them for forgien eyes. When satisfied, she turned back to him and spoke in a surprisingly elegant voice. He watched as she grabbed a handful of fabric from her dress and lift it from the ground as she bowed in a graceful curtsey. "_Après-midi, Monsieur_."

Without thinking, Enjolras reached out and grabbed her hand, stooping his shoulders in a small bow in return. "_Vous aussi, Mademoiselle,_" he replied in a voice like velvet. The thought crossed his mind briefly to bring her small hand to his lips, and yet, something held him back from doing so. A small voice in the back of his mind that reminded him that she was only there for one reason.

Oddly, she seemed unfazed by the gesture, and Enjolras silently wondered if there was anything he could do to knock that rather intimidating confidence of hers.

When he released her hand, she did nothing more but turn and walk from him in a brisk haze.

Yes, he would have to think of something at some point.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

**Thank you for all the reviews you all have taken the time to post. They make my day! I'm sorry for the rather long delay on my part, but hopefully this will make up for it. Enjoy!**

* * *

_Day 2_

* * *

It was a good thing that Enjolras had a fine memory. Otherwise he would have never remembered the rather obscure instructions that Eponine had given him. He would have never found his way to the apartment that she had directed him to.

He would have not seen her face light up as she opened the door to him.

But he did. And he did find his way to the apartment, and he did see her face as she opened the door.

Her wild eyes grew large, as if she had forgotten he was coming, and she swung open the door and let her arms widen. For a moment, he almost thought she was going to embrace him, but she simply turned and called into the room, "He's here!"

He allowed himself to be dragged in by the arm, where he was left standing in a rather empty room, all bar a table with a few chairs scattered around. In the corner, pillows had been arranged into a make-shift bed. The walls were dusted with cobwebs and streams of light that escaped through the dirt painted windows. The whole room seemed to stand lop-sided, and felt almost out of balance as he stood in the center, his eyes roaming the space.

He thought perhaps that she lived here. He prayed that she didn't. She didn't seem to belong. Her figure moved around him light a small glow of light, radiating the dusty place into something much more pleasant.

"I'm glad you found it alright," she mused to herself, finding a seat on the edge of the table. Her hands rung together as she spoke. "I thought you might get lost. I'm not a very good guide, am I?"

"No, I found it rather simple." He could swear he smelled a dampness coming from the walls. "So, what are you planning on doing with me today?"

Eponine's lips curled into a smile of secrecy. Like a child when they had something special planned. "Something quite unusual. Perhaps you will not want to."

"I'll be sure and try anything you tell me to."

"Alright then." She turned slightly towards a conjoined room. "Merlion!" she called. "Come in here!"

A stranger's voice appeared from the other room. It came in a deep, roughened voice that sounded like gravel. "Alright! Holy christ, I'm not a servant." A moment after it was said, a figure appeared in the doorway.

Enjolras knew instantly by the hunched shoulders and ducked head that the person before him was no threat. The young man in front of him had a mess of dirty brown hair, stuck to his face with grime. In his hands was a pile of fabric, or rags of some sort. When the head lifted, a pair of bright grey eyes stared back at him. He seemed much older than Eponine or himself, and a tingling thought at the back of his mind questioned how the pair had come to know each other.

"This is my friend Merlion." Eponine grinned towards Enjolras. "We have known each other for years."

"Sadly, yes," Merlion mumbled aloud. Eponine glanced towards him and furrowed her brow in a directed glower.

"Merlion has kindly agreed to help us," she continued, being cut off by a scoff from her friend.

"Anything to stick it to those prejudiced-" He flicked his eyes towards Enjolras, before raising his shoulders in a small shrug. "No offence." He began to move towards him, and it was only then that Enjolras noticed he walked with quite a noticable limp of the left leg. He fought himself not to ask about it as Merlion came closer and lifted the pile of rags towards him. "Anyway, here you are. They might fit you fine."

Enjolras, who had been silent until that point, found himself at a loss for words. "I, uh-"

"Thank you, Merlion," Eponine spoke through the increasingly awkward silence in a firm voice. Enjolras watched as the two friends exchanged a long glance.

Merlion seemed to understand the point suddenly. "...Oh! Right. Now I have to go, do I? Of course." He gave Enjolras a haste nod as he made his way to the door. "Goodbye, Monsieur. Good luck."

"Thank you?" Enjolras wondered aloud as he watched the limping man disappear out the door, followed by a slam that seemed to echo throughout the entire room. Before the silence could settle in between them, he turned to Eponine, his brow quirked in question. "What's going on?"

In return, she ducked her eyes to the ground and began to bite down on her bottom lip. Despite his curiosity, he still found the image quite enchanting. When she lifted her head again, her features echoed her sudden sheepish nature, although she spoke with confidence. "Today, Monsieur, you are going to dress up as one of us." She nodded towards the pile of clothing in his hands. "You can see truly how we get treated. How they see us. You can try your hand at begging for sous if you're willing."

The idea settled uncomfortably in his head. She grew quiet, awaiting his reaction.

Without warning, his eyes creased in discomfort. It was a clever idea, he couldn't deny. However, the concept was absurd. Passing himself off as a beggar and trying to fool others seemed too risky, too much of a game for the imagination rather than an actual possibility.

"...Eponine," he began, wondering how to turn down the plan without hurting her feelings in the process.

"Just try it? For me? I know it's no the most appealing attire, but I think you'll find it useful." Her face was hopeful, soft in the darkened light of the room. It did make it more difficult for him to say no. "A different perspective on your goals."

It would be useful. Still, the risk seemed to outweigh the idea.

Yet, the seemingly perminant wondering part of him wanted to try. Wanted to see if he could do it. There was already a pump of adrenaline simply at the thought of doing so. The Les Amis would never believe it if he managed to do complete this.

"I suppose," he mused. As he glanced towards her, her wide, excited eyes seemed to make up the rest of his mind for him. "...Alright then. For you."

Triumph flashed on her face as she grinned at his agreement. "I'll leave you to it, then. Don't take too long." She turned to the end of the conversation and walked from the room, leaving him alone to change.

He glanced down at the clothing before him. Would anyone believe it?

The doubts barely could do anything at that point to stop him, as he was already unbuttoning his shirt.

* * *

The streets had grown crowded with the mid-day hustle of the people. Horses were trotting around them, and people were yelling, speaking to each other in voices that barely allowed access to stranger's ears.

The two walked side by side, close to each other as to not lose themselves in the bustle of the crowds. Enjolras kept his head down, afraid of being seen. Yet nobody recognised him, or even payed him mind as he weaved in and out between people.

He did find it remarkable the way he had been transformed. He barely recognised himself when he caught his reflection in a shop window. The dirty and darkened clothing felt itchy and ill-fitting against him, but he had to remind himself that these were the things worn by some people everyday. A hat covered his head, the stitching falling apart. He hardly felt warm, or comfortable, but there was almost a joy he felt at being able to walk around like they did.

It was odd, but there was also a small part of him that enjoyed appearing to match Eponine. They seemed to fit together like this. Every now and then, he would cast his eyes in her direction and watch her for a few seconds. He wondered if anyone would question it if he were to reach over and brush his hand against hers. He wanted to know what it would feel like.

Then he would quickly shake the thought from his mind, scoulding himself for thinking something so strange and uncharacteristic.

He almost didn't notice when Eponine's voice cut through the noise around them. "I have to say, I much prefer how you normally look."

"Is that a compliment on my normal look?"

"Take it how you want to. Are you ready? We're nearly there."

Enjolras hardly felt ready. Walking around was one thing, asking for money from a stranger was another. He had an expectation for how they would treat him. Negatively, of course. "Yes."

"Watch how you act, don't let your gentleman habits fall through."

"If you say so."

As they rounded corner and made their way through a darkened alley, he watched the shadowed figure guide him towards the light of a distant street.

"Right, here we go," she said quietly as they reached the end. He was ready to walk out, but when his eyes brushed over the scene before him, they caught a street sign that made his blood run cold and his throat jump down.

"Eponine," he choked out. He hated the way he sounded, but it was purely instinctive.

When she looked over to him, her eyes narrowed at his change in exterior. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice gentle.

How could he explain to her, right there and then? He couldn't. He felt his eyes dancing wildly in front of them, watching out for a face that would ruin everything. One that would catch them out. "...I can't go through there. Anywhere but there."

She looked confused at his stumbling words. "This is the richest part of town. This is the best place for begging."

"It's just...I have a friend who has family here. I might be recognised."

Her eyes ran down and observed his haggard apperence. It was a stupid thing to say, as probably Marius wouldn't even recognise him at this point. "I doubt it, Sir. ...Are you alright?"

Nothing in Enjolras felt alright. There was a ice cold stab in his stomach at the place. He knew the risk wasn't all there. This wasn't even where he was afraid of. Any reason for him to fear this place had been years ago, and would probably not be a treat to him now. The fear inside him grew at knowing he could not provide a serious reason for not wanting to go in. He knew that to anyone, it would only appear as cowardice.

He had to be a man now, and get over his silly thoughts and fears.

"No. You're right." He swallowed down a lump of doubt that had appeared in his throat. "I suppose...best get it over with."

Eponine looked doubtful. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

At his insistence, she could do nothing but shrug, and watch upon him with a doubtful gaze that was laced with concern. He felt her hand grasp his arm and gently squeeze. "Good luck."

He looked down and caught her dark eyes. With a final intake of breath to steady him, he turned and stepped out into the light.

The street seemed a different world to that of where they were familiar.

The bricks were paler, whiter. Patches of grass dotted the ground, and the people were dressed in smarter clothing and carried themselves with grace and poise that seemed incredibly odd to him now. Even the air seemed clearer here. It was a feeling that was dangerous, and only made Enjolras realise that he stuck out like a rat, ready to be caught.

Of course, most of his being did not want to do this. However, there was certainly an underlying curiosity as to what would happen that he could not deny. One that made his legs move and his back turn from Eponine as he walked towards a stranger that had caught his eye.

A middle-aged man, dressed in fine attire and walking on his own, his head upturned as he took in the glorious beauty of the street around him. He was large and tall, more so than Enjolras, so that when he walked up to him and stopped a few feet away, he felt small in comparison.

When the gentleman saw him, he paused in his steps. Enjolras also watched him move backwards slightly.

He attempted a smile, to try and seem civil if northing else. "Pardon, Monsieur. I was wondering if perhaps-"

"Oh, not again. How ghastly," The man cut through his words. His face curled into dismay, and he glanced over his shoulders, appearing embarrassed to be bothered by a street-person.

Enjolras blinked at the reaction. "I'm sorry?"

"What must I do to avoid you beastly things?"

An anger stirred inside him. He had obviously expected the reaction to be negative, but this was just rude and a little humilating, which he did not appreciate. "I beg your pardon, Sir. I was just asking if you'd be kind enough to spare some change so that I could eat." The words were spoken through gritted teeth. "Or perhaps live another day."

"It is not my problem, nor my business," the man stuttered, having had enough. He began to move again, attempting to side-step Enjolras, who quickly stood in his way once more.

He would not let himself be treated this way. "Wait a minute-"

The man stared down at him in shock. His hand raised quickly in the air, and hastily began waving at him, as if he were a fly. "Get away! Vermin!" he ordered, drawing the attention of others passing by.

The eyes on him did nothing but stir his anger on, and Enjolras had to withold a growl at the stranger. "How dare-"

"Away!" the man ordered once more, paying no mind to his words. "_Officier!_"

Before Enjolras could do anything, a policeman appeared in his blue uniform that set off warning bells in his mind. The officer was younger, but had a face of arrogence that someone of great experience would have.

"Oui, Monsieur?" he asked, elevating an eyebrow at the scene.

It was then that Enjolras noticed Eponine appear beside him.

"These creatures are harassing me," the man said, stepping back from them, as if they were about to harm him.

Enjolras could do nothing but blurt out a dry, harsh laugh in disbelief. "Harassing? How ridiculous!"

"Practically trying to rob me."

"What?" Enjolras took as step forward towards him. "Listen here you pompus-"

He found himself being stopped short as a baton was brought agains his chest, thumping lightly in threat. The movement should have drawn the situation to a close, and he could have taken it as the chance to leave. Yet, he was far too entangled in his sudden hatred towards the situation to drag himself away.

"Mind your tongue," the officer warned him darkly, glaring towards him. "No worries, Monsieur. I'll deal with them."

"We've done nothing wrong!" Enjolras watched in cold disbelief as the man turned his back to them, and walked away from the scene without another word. Had he no shame? No conscience? "How dare you walk away from me, you swine!"

As soon as the words left his lips, he found himself being forced against the hard surface of a brick wall. He was no weakling, but the movement brought him to a freeze of ability, and he found himself face-to-face with the officer, who'd caught him by the neck.

"You'll dig your own grave, you filth," he spat into Enjolras' face.

Before the student could react, Eponine quickly reached over, tugging on the officer's arm roughly to prevent him from harming Enjolras. "Stop!" she demanded.

The officer turned to her, and in one swift movement, swung his arm around and threw his hand against her cheek. The sharp sound that followed made Enjorlas' spine freeze as a loud crack echoed around them. Eponine stumbled backwards, her hand flying to the fast-reddening skin.

"Shut it, _putain_," the officer hissed towards her, his lip curling in disgust.

Enjolras forced himself out of his grip in the distraction, and had quickly made his way to Eponine, stooping down and placing his hands firmly on her arms as a sign of assurance. She lifted her head up to him, their eyes locking. No less than a second after their eyes had met, he turned towards the officer and stepped towards him, threat seeping onto his face and darkening his features.

"We're leaving," Eponine quickly interjected. Sensing an anger radiating from Enjolras, she placed her hands on his arm and anxiously pulled him away. Any more trouble would make things far worse than they had already become. "Come on," she said, a quiet tone of pleading in her voice.

Enjolras wanted nothing more than to stay and vent the quickly growing rage that had appeared in his stomach. To wipe the stupid look of satisfaction from the officer's face. However, he could not ignore the tugging on his arm that was pulling him away. All he could do was send one last glare into the officer's cold eyes, remembering his face were he ever to see him once more.

He let himself be pulled off the street, remaining silent in his rage until they had rounded the corner and were well away from the source of his disturbance.

When they were surely far enough from the richer streets and back into their domain of familiar bearings, Enjolras tugged his arm from Eponine's grip, less he harm her out of his control.

He stepped away, pacing the road, tearing the hat from his head and scrunching it into his palm.

"Don't be so angry, Monsieur," Eponine quietly mumbled, her hands entwined behind her back. His face was contorted into something unfamiliar, something that made them both greatly uncomfortable.

He shook his head. "How can you tell me not to be angry?" Lifting his eyes to her, he could see her shrunken form against his change in mood. He pointed towards her and felt his teeth bare in anger. "You show me these things, and all they do is cause a rage inside me that I hate!"

She did nothing but shrug in reply for lack of words. "It's the way things are. Please...let's go, Monsieur."

"Enough."

"I'm sorry?"

He let his head fall back as he exhaled sharply out of frustration. "Enough of that Monsier nonsense! My name is Enjolras. That's what you shall call me, understand?" His raised voiced rang in the air even after the words had left his lips. It was a tone that he hated coming from his own throat.

Eponine watched him curiously, and her eyes had widened slightly at the sound of his name.

It was only when the silence fell thickly between them that he even found the time to breath and calm himself remotely. When he had, his attention was once again focused on the girl before him. He felt his face relax towards her, and shame ran through him like cold water. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you."

Oddly, she didn't seem to mind his outburst, and simply gave him a small nod of understanding. "It's alright."

No, it wasn't alright. Enjolras hated himself for losing his control in front of her. It was not her fault that that rich old fool had offended him. Or that the officer didn't care for his argument. Or that she had been struck across the face.

The thought made his muscles tense once more. How could that have happened. Had those men no sense? No heart? Striking women and cruely naming the poor appeared to be the only thing they knew. He could barely believe it. He had known that the rich had lived on a seperate mind on the matter, but the extent to which it was real... it just was not right.

A cool breeze blew past his face, pressing against his skin that was strangly pleasant. He looked towards Eponine, who was staring at the ground in an absent-minded manner. Her cheek had grown red now, and her lips were tightened in thought.

Before he could stop himself, he was walking over to her. When just a few inches apart, he reached down and placed his hand under her chin. Tilting her head upwards gently, he tried to avoid looking into her questioning eyes. Slowly, he lifted his hand from her chin and lightly traced it amongst the sore skin. Her bruising from the day before appeared a little better, but was still clearly visible from his standing.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice coming out so gently that it was even strange to his ears.

She took a moment to answer, but when she did, she was quiet. "No."

Neither found the need to speak for several long moments after that. The silence was comfortable between them, and Enjolras was perfectly content to simply stand and watch her. Her dark eyes searched his face for what seemed like hours, and he could not understand what she was looking for. He felt such pity for her at that moment, although he knew she would hate the fact that he did. She had lived her life in a whirlwind of violence and predjudice, and today had just been another stop in her life of poverty.

In all the uncertainty he had felt in the previous few days, he knew one clear thing. He wanted to take her away from it. She did not in any way deserve the treatment she recieved, and he wanted more than anything there and then to protect her from the world in which she lived.

A women yelled in the distance, quickly followed by a man's defending voice. Their own world seemed to be in a different universe than that of the richer streets. Things were louder, less intimate. But somehow, it felt much more like home.

Enjolras finally managed to drop his hand from her face after realising that they had been standing that way for quite some time. "...We should leave," he murmured. Eponine replied with a quiet nod, and began walking before him.

* * *

Returning back to Merlion's place had been an almost silent journey. Something had appeared between the pair; heavy and overwhelming. There was nothing that could be said to address this new feeling. It was as if their world had been cracked open and tainted by the unpleasant events of the day.

They had arrived back just as the night had taken over, painting the sky black and blanketing the streets with a darkness.

Merlion was nowhere to be found, and in a way, Enjolras was glad. He would not want to discuss what they had seen, what had happened. Arriving at the flat, Eponine found Enjolras' proper clothing and let him change with privacy.

He almost did not want to change. Getting into his own clothing, he almost felt a disconnection taking over. It was a silly thought, but in beggar's clothing, he and Eponine looked alike. They could have grown up together, or may have been together in other ways. Now he felt the seperation grow back in like an unfortunate illness. Like they were two seperate beings, from different worlds.

When he had finished, he walked out and found her at a table by candlelight, her elbow propped up and her fingers twisting against her lower lip in deep thought. She didn't notice him come in.

It was only when he placed down the used clothing on the table that she even looked up. He chose to sit beside her, placing himself on a chair that was just on the other side of the table. "Thank you, Eponine," he said, once he'd taken his place.

Eponine sent him a sad smile. "For getting you upset?"

"For showing me the truth," he grimaced. "Things will change. I promise you that."

Then it happened again. The silence that grew between them like an old friend.

As he observed her quietly, he saw traces of regret in her features. She had not expected that to happen. Educate him, yes, but she did not want to anger him so. After a while passed, she finally let her arm fall as she breathed out gently.

"...Why don't you live with your family?" she asked.

It was a question that he had certainly not expected. Although, perhaps he should of. He had of course acted strangly earlier that day.

"Excuse me?" he echoed, despite his clear hearing.

"You didn't want to go down there today. You said you knew a friend who had family there, but I don't think that's true." Her brow furrowed as the concept ran through her head once more. "I think you lived there. Is that right, Sir?"

"...No." As the words left his lips they felt bitter. "I lived just around the corner from there. But I suppose you're right in saying that's why I didn't want to go there."

"Does your family still live there?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you see them?"

He could not withhold the heavy sigh that escaped at her constant questioning. "Eponine-" He did not want to talk about it, and had avoided doing so for so long. Yet he could not blame her for being curious. It was in her nature to question things. "It's very complicated. I don't think you'd understand."

Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I could try," she offered, her lips turning up in a weak smile at encourage him.

He felt his stomach turn. However, he could not avoid the question - she was hardly the type of person to leave it be. Taking a moment to gather a quick intake of air, he began to speak in a forced voice. "My mother and father live there still. I left them to study and haven't spoken to them much since."

"You didn't get along?"

"Not really, no." Memories of arguments and long standing silences began to flood back into his mind. "But I think it was my passion for the cause that made them hate me even more. I was supposed to become very sucessful, take pleasure in my money and marry a girl that would have pleased my family." A grimace made it's way onto his face at the idea of the life in which he was supposed to be caged in. "When I confessed to them my plans for the revolution, they were frightened I think. Frightened for the power in the thoughts. Although they masked it as anger and said it was stupid and that I was selfish for throwing away everything they had given me. They tried so hard to make me forget the idea."

He never tore his eyes from hers whilst he spoke, watching her every reaction with incredible precision. She hardly let her thoughts be known, as she listened intently with a face like stone, cool and collected as she absorbed his words. "Which you didn't."

"No. In the end, my father allowed me to go off to school and sends me a little money every month. Although I think it is just a way of him telling me to keep to myself and not embarass them."

"Do you miss them?"

He shook his head, and felt his features pull into a frown, more of regret than of anger. "We ended on a bad note, I think. The night I left they went out to a dinner party. There weren't any goodbyes, really. I suppose that makes it hard to miss them."

There was a moment of hesitation from Eponine, who appeared to consider a notion in her mind. He waited for her to speak. He was taken back when she reached over and patted his arm. "They don't know what a son they have. If they did, they wouldn't have let you go so easily."

The way she spoke was assuring. It was said in a way that offered more comfort than he had been exposed to in a while. "Maybe."

"They just don't understand what you're fighting for. They'd be on your side in a heartbeat if they did."

He did nothing to respond to that. Instead, he drew his vision to the candle that lay between them. It had been burnt to nearly a stump. The flame flickered frequently, threatening to burn out soon.

It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Eponine had listened willingly, and he had managed to rid himself of the pressures that his own secrecy had brought upon him. Only Marius had heard the story of his past, and even he didn't know the whole truth.

It was then that an idea came into his head. Quite a good idea, actually.

Eponine had given her time to him the past few days to show him things that he knew nothing about. He had learnt a great deal. It was new and shocking and everything he had wanted to know. If only he could encourage the same inspiration within his friends, then things would move at a much greater rate.

Although he didn't necessarily like the idea of _sharing her_ with the others, he knew that it was important they meet her. She was a key element in the changes they wanted to make.

"Are you hungry, Eponine?"

She glanced down at her small stomach and smiled to herself. "As ever."

"Will you accompany me to the cafe? I have a meeting there with the Les Amis later. I could buy you something."

There was a pause from Eponine. "You wouldn't mind being seen with me?" she asked, confusion and hesitation written in her eyes.

It was his turn then to send a look of confusion. "Of course not. I'd actually rather like it if you met the Amis. Maybe you could talk to them. About life on the street and such. Just a little."

Her lips twisted in consideration. He knew nothing of her mind's working, but he suspected that she didn't know enough about the Amis to be able to trust them. Him, she knew, but they were just a story to her. A group of people that might be able to change the world. He was glad when she finally gave him a nod, and began to rise from her seat. "Alright. If you insist."

He could not withold the grin that spread across his face. "Let's go then."

She smiled in return, but it quickly slipped as she appeared to remember something. "Wait!" Without explaination, she turned and ran into the other room, appearing just moments later with something familiar in her hand. "Here, your jacket. I remembered."

"Thank you." As she slipped the maroon coloured jacket into his hands, he cast his eyes to her bare shoulders, and then to the blackened sky outside. Without second thought, he unfolded it and placed it behind her, pulling her close to him as he tightened it around her.

"It's not a short walk. I don't want you to get cold," he explained upon recieving a rather confused gaze from the _gamine_. As he smoothed the fabric out, he ran his hands down her arms, his fingers gently trailing behind, wishing to feel the skin underneath.

For the first time, when he focused on her face, she appeared out of her element. Her eyes had widened in an unexpectancy at the touch. A warm satisfaction ran through him, enjoying the power her sudden confusion brought him. He couldn't contain the smirk that tugged at his lips. When she saw, it was clear that she needed to maintain the upper hand once more.

As he let his hands fall, she turned and made her way towards the door. "I hope you know, the reason I'm coming isn't just because you're offering to buy me a meal," she said, not stopping until she was halfway out the door frame.

"I know."

Turning to look over her shoulder, a mischievous smile played on her features. "I expect a drink as well," she spoke smoothly, her voice dipping into the air like smoke. For added measure, she looked him up and down and simply added in a tone akin to a whisper, "_Enjolras_."

This time, Enjolras did not find himself falling into an abashed, childish state that her teasing almost always did. Instead, he kept the smirk on his face, and let a deep chuckle quietly occupy his throat as he followed her.

All the time, thinking of how much the sound of his name on her lips made his blood pulse.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

**I apologise for the extremely long wait. Writers block is unkind.**

**If you have a moment, I really appreciate a review - I love hearing what you think of this story! Thanks, and enjoy.**

* * *

_Eponine_

* * *

Although it had been attempted to remain hidden, Eponine didn't miss the way that Enjolras would glance in her direction every few seconds.

She could hardly think why. Their conversation had not been filled with anything of great consequence. Just filling in small details of their lives.

Yet, she felt like she was holding back. There was no point anymore, really. Their relationship had far surpassed lying and concealing. However, she felt that there were certain things about herself that she was not ready to reveal. Not just to him, but to anyone.

At the end of the day, she felt there was no point in getting too familiar. Although it pained her to think so, she believed that at the end of the five days he had promised were over, and he had taken everything he could from her (just as other men had done before), he would leave her. It was a sad fact, but true. Everyone she loved left her.

Deep in what was left of her heart, she couldn't bear the thought. They had only known each other for so long, but she felt that she could not really be without him. Trust was something that she could never find easily in people, but for him, it had come willingly. He seemed a friend to her, and did not treat her like others did. He treated her like a lady, like a real person.

But it was simply his kind nature, and nothing more. He could only ever see her as something to be kind to. For all the dreams and secret thoughts she had, in the harsh reality in which they lived, she was a rat, and he was a gentleman.

When she returned her thoughts to his words, she found him in the middle of a story. "...Then I ran out the door and didn't look back until I was streets away," he explained, a small laugh following at the memory. She noticed the way his lips curled upwards as he laughed. It did make him look much younger in a way that she rather liked. "I do believe that was the last thing I did that got me so excited. Apart from today, of course."

Eponine smiled at the ground as they passed through the buildings. Amber light tinted some of the windows, casting warm shadows down on the pair. "I did believe you had a wild side."

In return, Enjolras grinned a little to himself. "No, not really. I wish I did."

"No, I think you do," she persisted with an impish grin. "I think that underneath your polite and refined breeding, you are capable of being absolutely terrible."

"Let's hope so," he replied in a chuckle. His pace slowed suddenly, and he stooped down a little to her height (he was just just tall enough to make her feel small) and pointed to the distance. "Nearly there. See, just over there?"

Eponine looked over. Just on the other side of the road, there sat a tall, slightly askew building. Warm lights petruded through the windows into the dark, and laughter and chatter could be heart. She had passed it many times, the _Cafe Musain_. However, having reason or chance to ever enter was a completely different thing.

Enjolras began walking once more, but stopped when he realised that Eponine was still standing in place.

She nibbled quietly on her bottom lip. What would they think of him, should he bring her in? With her dirt covered face and her torn clothing. They would laugh at her, or worse, at Enjolras. They would be disgusted, or angry. After all, they were fortunate enough to be attending University, and that placed them on pedestals far higher than the ground she was on.

When Enjolras sent her a questioning stare, she watched him back with a face of nerves.

"You don't have to bring me in there if you don't want to. I would understand."

Confusion twisted his strong features, and he stepped towards her. "Eponine, why would I send you away?...What are you afraid of?"

"Nothing. I just..." Her eyes fell to the ground in shame. "I know I'm not the best company to keep. I'm sure your friends won't take to kindly to me. People see me differently than they see you."

"I want you to meet. You'll be good for them, just as you are good for me." She lifted her eyes to him then, feeling her heart beat faster as the words left his lips. He grinned warmly towards her. "And if anyone dares mistreat you, I shall see to it myself that they next come to on the other side of France. Besides, you're hungry, aren't you?"

The thought of food almost instinctively sent her hands flying to her stomach. "_Oui,_" she admitted.

"Let's not be late, then."

* * *

The cafe was nothing more than what she had expected. There was little class or sophistication in here. It was neither extremely crowded nor quiet, and the sounds of classes clinking and general chatter filled the air with a comforting sense of coziness. The room itself looked aged and worn, as if it were tired of entertaining. However, in the world in which they lived, life stopped for nothing.

Eponine tucked herself behind Enjolras, away from anyone's view as they walked up the stairs to the first floor. The wood creaked and groaned as they moved, and she made care not to take a wrong step and fall backwards. She wouldn't want anyone to think that she was incapable enough to forget to walk up a staircase.

No less than a moment later than they entered the cafe, a swarm of welcoming voices and yells took over the bustling sounds of the room.

In the centre, a large table took order, holding center to a large group of young men, all of whom raised their heads and voices with glee once Enjolras had entered.

"Enjolras!"

A chorus of welcomes rung towards them, and one or two of the students made their way towards Enjolras in order to speak to him personally. They wore friendly faces, but barely seemed to notice that Eponine was standing behind the focus of their attention.

"Ah, our fearless leader had returned once more," one young man chimed, patting Enjolras affectionately on the shoulder. "Are we in a pleasant mood this evening?"

It was amusing to Eponine to see that Enjolras did not share the same friendly manner with the student. Instead, he rolled his eyes and sent a wary glare towards him. "Courfeyrac. Can you behave?" A hand reached out, and before Eponine could think, he was gently pulling her out from behind him. "We have company this evening."

Eponine did not meet the young man's eyes as she stepped out. It was a trick she had learnt well. Standing straight, she glanced just past him, keeping her eyes on the wall behind as not to see his sneer of disgust. Whilst she expected him to let out a string of insults, she did not expect to hear a quiet exclamation of, "_Mon dieu_." There was a moment of quiet hesitation, but she was relieved to hear no expressions of anger. "Enjolras with a lady? I need another drink."

Although the word _lady _was not spoken with confidence, the student said nothing more, and simply left them without second thoughts.

Another figure spoke up then, and rose from a distant chair to come towards them. "Wait a minute..." Eponine, out of curiosity, looked towards the figure. She recognised him from a few days previous. Yes, he was with Enjolras on the street. Marius, she remembered. He wondered over to them with deep thought on his face, and studied her closer whilst he spoke. "Yes, I know you. What was it? Epo-something or other."

"Eponine," Enjolras interjected firmly.

At recognition, a friendly grin warmed his face. "That was it. Eponine. Forgive me."

Eponine returned the smile, and nodded her head in a motion of respect. "That's quite alright Monsieur Marius."

"Well, you appear to remember me just fine."

Enjolras' name was called from across the room just then.

Enjolras cleared his throat above the noise, and gently placed a hand on Eponine's back to guide her forward. "Marius, would you take her to get some food? I'll be right back. Go and eat, Eponine."

The smile slipped from Eponine's face quickly, and she turned to him with nervous eyes. "Where are you going?"

"Just over there. Just a moment." Enjolras, seeing her discomfort, fixated on her eyes with a soft smile of assurance. It calmed her, but did not take away her unease. But he soon slipped from her side to weave into the patrons.

She could not contain her anxiety as she watched him turn and walk towards a small group of students who had gathered in the corner. They looked between her and Enjolras, one whispering something to the other in a manner that made her most uncomfortable. Beside her, Marius saw her stare, tentatively nudged her arm with his hand, and smiled warmly at her when she looked at him. "Come along, Madmoiselle."

Without argument, she followed him up to a large counter that stood across the room, where several men had gathered to drink. The sight was grim; grown men drowning their troubles in glasses nearly empty. She wondered if this was were most men ended up. Behind a counter with nothing but a glass and a broken spirit.

Behind it, a large, older woman with red cheeks stood and wiped down the surface with a dirty rag. She looked up as she and Marius approached, and grinned at the student.

"Another one for your drunken friend, Monsieur?" she asked, nodding her head towards a student in the corner, who Eponine noticed had his lips glued to a bottle since her arrival.

Marius glanced towards his friend, and rolled his eyes towards the woman. "Actually, it might be best for you not to serve him the rest of the night. I was wondering if you had something for this young lady to eat?"

The woman's eyes fell upon Eponine, and she felt judgement wash her over into a slump. But she would not let herself be shrunken by this perfect stranger. She straightened her shoulders and looked her in the eye, putting on a straight face that she wore to show she was not afraid.

When the woman finally spoke, she muttered firmly, "I don't give out free anything."

"Of course. I'd pay for it," Marius explained. "Anything you have will be fine."

A gentle sigh shook the woman's shoulders at the concept of more work than needed. Yet Eponine knew that as soon as the promise of payment left Marius' lips, she would get a meal. "Very well," she said, throwing her rag on the counter. "Give me a moment, I'll bring it over."

"Thank you, Madame. Shall we sit, Eponine?" Guiding her gently away from the woman's watchful eyes, Marius showed her towards the table of the rest of the Amis. The last place Eponine wanted to go at that moment.

As they grew closer to the group of students, they all fell quiet. Where was Enjolras? There was still time for her to make it to the door before one of them went on a rant about her apperance, just as anyone else would do.

A chair was placed behind her, and she planted herself down, quietly refusing to let her cowardice take over. She could not let down Enjolras. Not now.

"This is Eponine," Marius said to the table, placing himself in the seat beside her. "She was there the other day when we were almost caught out by Javert. Helped us get away without being seen, actually."

Eponine managed to gather the strength to lift her eyes from the damp wooden surface of the table then. Looking up, she let her vision roam around the faces before her. They were all staring, making her feel greatly uncomfortable. Curiosity was one thing, but this felt like pure invasion.

Their appearances only made her feel mildly better. Most of them had removed their jackets, a few had even rolled up their sleeves and unbuttoned their collars. Bottles were spread around the table, along with study books and papers. It was clear that this was a place they felt they could relax. A place where they could converse with friends and escape the conventions of whatever constricting lives they must lead.

Her hands tightened Enjolras' jacket around her shoulders. She looked down at the table, focusing on the books that had been strewn across the surface without care. They were rather beautiful, with fancy covers and titles that she could barely understand. One in particular caught her eye. Just within arm's reach, covered in a fine deep green cover, with careful gold lettering adorning the front. Without a thought to stop herself, she reached forward and took it with one hand, holding it up to her eyes.

"T-th-thea-theoo..." she mumbled under her breath, her brow creasing at the seemingly difficult words. Reading was a lot harder than she remembered. The silence around her grew even thicker as she grew quiet, suddenly realising that she was sitting in the presence of men who could do far more than read a simple title. She felt blood rush to her cheeks as she gave up, holding the book up to the table. "Who does this belong to?"

A young man, sitting just opposite her, quickly raised a hand and began blabbering in a nervous stammer. "I, uh- that's, um, mine. Thats m-my book."

Eponine watched him, wondering what on earth could make him so nervous. She could see him eyeing the book in her hand, carefully considering whether or not to take it from her before she could run off with it. "Well, would you mind telling me what it says on the front?"

The other occupants of the table all turned their eyes to the young man.

He looked taken back for a moment, but regained some sense and managed to force out some sign of intelligent life. "Oh. It's uh...Theory of Cardiology and Circulatory Distribution."

"...What on _earth_ does that mean?"

Another student from the other end of the table scoffed aloud. "Who knows?"

"Apart from him, who cares?" another chortled. The rest of the table fell into laughter.

The young man looked a little flustered, glowering slightly at his teasing friends. He turned his attention back to Eponine. "It really just means theory of the heart. How it works and such."

"The heart?" she echoed. Furrowing her brow, she looked down at the thick book. "Rather small thing to have so many pages written about it."

That made him smile, just a little. "That's true. But the heart itself is very complicated. A lot of detail goes into the things that make it work."

"I suppose." A sigh escaped her lips as she offered him the book from across the table. "Of course I would never understand all that. You must be very smart, Monsieur."

A slight blush tingled his cheeks as he took the book gently from her. "Well, I don't know about that. But I have to learn it, you see. I'm training to be a doctor."

"A doctor? Well, that settles it. You are very smart then." Finding her confidence in the conversation with the quiet young man, she sat up a little. "What else do you do, Monsieur?"

Another voice spoke up, coming from a student at the end of the table. "I'm afraid he won't impress you too much, Madmoiselle." He nodded his head towards the aspiring doctor. "Whilst Joly is an excellent medical student, he severely lacks in any other talent."

The young man (who she now knew to be Joly) frowned at new speaker. "Oh, and what can _you_ do, Combeferre?"

Combeferre laughed. "Why, I am a fine philosophy student. Would be the top of my class if I didn't waste my time with you sorry lot."

"Philosophy?" Eponine wondered aloud. "What's that?"

"Philosphy is the study of thoughts. The pondering of life."

"Not nearly as clever as medicine," Joly quickly interjected, fearful of losing his new admirer.

Eponine turned her head towards Marius, who had been watching the exchange with an amused grin. "And what is it you do, Monsieur Marius?"

Marius smiled warmly at her. The gesture was one that she greatly appreciated, as it seemed he genuinely did not mind her company, as opposed to simply being polite. "I'm a law student. Although I suppose that's a little irrelevant what with our work here and all."

"I think it's a good enough subject," she shrugged in return.

Another young man, the one in the corner, who had seemed to spent the duration of the conversation with a bottle to his lips spoke up. "I do not mean to seem impolite, Madmoiselle, but what is the purpose of your company this evening?"

Silence once again occupied the air between the members of the table as they awaited Eponine's response. Of course, polite conversation could only go so far. Eventually one of them would have had to question the _gamine's _presence.

Eponine rattled her brain for an answer. There were many reasons why she was there. The first being that Monsieur Enjolras had asked her. But she couldn't very well answer with that, could she? "Well, I suppose..." She decided to bring about the subject to where it deemed most fit. "I'm here about your cause."

The students exchanged glances.

"...Well..." Combeferre began. "...What is it you would like to know?"

"Oh, anything really. I think it's very interesting. Monsieur Enjolras told me that for the moment you're rallying the people. Then you'll expose the idea and begin the revolution. Am I correct?"

"That's the general idea, yes," Combeferre nodded, pausing to take a sip of some liquor. "We do hope to gain some more support from the people. More fighting power. There's a rather large possibility that this may have to be settled with violence. If we take down the General Guard, then it would get the message across rather smoothly."

"At some point, we hope to contact General Lamarque."

"'Ere you go," a roughened voice said, and a hand reached down to place a plate before her. Eponine felt her eyes being drawn to the plate below, filled with some slices of thick bread and some large pieces of creamy-looking cheese. Eponine could hardly believe it when the hand appeared a second time to place down a small but steaming cup of some sort of stew on the side.

On some instinctive force, she could no longer focus on the conversation at hand. Hunger pains had become so frequent, that they had numbed into a consistant feeling. Something that was always there and could barely be given a second thought. Yet now, seeing the plate of food brought to her, right there under her nose...it brought back the sickening emptiness that lay deep within her.

It was all she took not to shove the contents down her throat at one go. She knew there were eyes on her, poised to see her response to the meal. So with slightly shaking fingers, she reached out and brought a bit of bread to her, starting slow as not to make herself sick. As she tore off some of the thick, slightly hardened slice, she forced herself to chew before swallowing.

"So, Madmoiselle..." The drinking student began once more. "Why are you so interested in our little hobby? Hm?"

Eponine quickly found herself growing tired of his questioning. "What is your name, Sir?" she asked, before taking another bite of bread.

"Grantaire."

She watched as he downed another gulp of his drink and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. He watched her carefully, not with judgement, but with anticipation. As she finished the last of her bread and folded her arms across her chest, she stared back at him with equal curiosity, wondering what on earth his purpose was if he spent his time behaving this way. "Monsieur Grantaire, let's not beat around the bush. I am clearly not one of you. I am not a student, or a scholar. Look at me. For all your brains, is it not clear that I am homeless? That I am poor?"

Grantaire appeared taken back by her blunt reply. He blinked in return, before stammering a little, "Well, uh...I was just-"

"Perhaps the obvious answer to your question is that I am interested in knowing what you can do for me?" She gestured down to her plate. "This food is good. I would like some more, but who knows when I am next going to eat like this. A week? A month? Ever?" She ignored the look of sympathy and shock flash through the faces of the students. "You've questioned me more than once this evening about my purpose, and to be quite honest, I've spent a large portion of the evening trying to make good impressions. But perhaps you should be the ones trying to prove yourselves to me. After all, it's my people that are going to help you." Leaning back in her chair, she quirked an eyebrow towards him in question. "Do you not agree, Monsieur?"

The silence that followed was long, and hung between them like knives at their throats. As the initial shock passed from his features, a much colder look of doubt creased around his eyes.

"So you think we can succeed," he stated, his eyes falling to the table. The words fell carelessly from his lips, as if he could not care any less about the success of the group.

"You don't?"

"Quite honestly, no."

Eponine was about to retaliate at that moment, but found a hand pressing upon her shoulder silencing her. She tilted her head up, and was glad to see Enjolras standing tall above her. The dim lighting of the small space made his eyes appear darker, and he cast them towards Grantaire with a powerful stare that threatened deeply.

"Grantaire has two states of being built into his brain," he told her with a biting tone. "Sarcastic and drunk."

Grantaire seemed to take no care into Enjolras' words, simply rolling his eyes to the sky in return. "Haven't you made your little speech yet? Can't we go home now?"

The remark appeared to strike a chord of anger in Enjolras, and Eponine watched as he leaned forward, his hands spread onto the stained wood of the table. The stress in his form caused his knuckles to whiten. "Your little remarks are becoming tiresome, you know. Why are you here?"

"Because you told me to come."

Despite herself, Eponine reached down and brought the warm cup to her lips, carefully sipping at the liquid which tasted like some form of broth. It was soothing and delicious on her tongue, but her mind was now captured by the exchange at hand.

"No, why are you here every night? With us? Clearly you do not care about the cause."

Grantaire released a small snort at that, before standing from his seat and swinging his bottle around before him in a dazed manner. It reminded Eponine of the hway her father acts once he had had a drink. Although, she doubted Grantaire would act out the same violence as her father. The thought alone sent shivers down her back, coming alive once more in hot patterns on her back where bruises and scars were dotted. "It's not that I don't care. I just don't believe in the fact that a bunch of dysfunctional students, and apparently, a mouthy _gamine, _can overthrow the city's government with a few words and an idea."

Eponine herself had taken no mind to the name (she had heard it many times before), but it brought about something dark in Enjolras. He stood up straight, as if his body had reacted to the words on instinct. "How dare you!" His voice was raised, and drew a quietness from the rest of the room as chatter fell into mumbles. "We've given up almost everything for this!"

Marius, sensing the disturbance arise, reached out before Enjolras. "Enough, you two."

Grantaire reacted quickly. "Then do something! I believed in you, Enjolras! I thought you might be able to do something in this world. What happened?!" The betrayal in his voice burned though the air. His face contorted into bitterness."Everything just fell apart."

Eyes, along with Eponine's fell to their leader. Enjolras could not find instant words. His lips seemed to part and stutter with silent sounds, unspoken words. Only Eponine saw his quiet distress. Grantaire's prodding had poked at thoughts that Enjolras feared most. She felt pity flood though her mind at the man, who in his strain, looked suddenly so much like a boy. "...I'm-"

In a fierce protective instinct, Eponine found herself speaking. "Monsieur Enjolras has asked me to provide assistance for your group," she said to the students. "He's organised a meeting tomorrow. In the streets. He thought that I might be able to show you something beyond what you're seeing."

Combeferre spoke in a dejected tone,"We've rallyed many times before."

Eponine looked to Enjolras. His eyes were on her face, and gratitude shone in his eyes."...We are not going to rally," he spoke slowly. The room once again was drawn to his words, in a way that Eponine loved. How could one person hold such power over others with just their words? "We are going to learn. It's the faces of the poor that made us want to do this. Perhaps it's time to remind ourselves what we're fighting for."

The passion he found in his words seemed to ignite something else inside him. His eyes stared back at his fellow students, redering them paralised in his view. Eponine found herself quickly in awe at his found persona. His voice was strong, his words stronger. In the mellow lighting of the room, his handsome face was shadowed, and she watched the muscles in his jaw tighten as his thoughts spurred him on.

"It's time for us all to grow up and act on what we believe. We were once ambitious, but we've lost that amongst our slow minds and lack of action. We _will _get the people to rise with us. Believe me, in a week from now we will be speaking to hundreds across the city. Our time has nearly come."

Another young man, dark haired and gentle-looking spoke up in a quiet voice. "You think we can do it that soon?"

Enjolras responded with a short nod. "We can. We will." His dropped his eyes to the gound, the heavy thoughts in his head giving him a somber expression. "There are two sides to this fight. It is time for us all to decide who are are."

When nobody else dared to speak, he placed his hand gently down on the table, nodding his head towards the window that faced the street below. "Tomorrow, nine o' clock. At the other end of _Place Saint-Michel_. Are there any objections? No? Good."

Eponine watched the blank faces of the Amis around her. Some watched him with confusion, some with awe. Most of them just ended up looking rather surprised at his sudden bluntness. She could not help but let a small grin spread across her lips.

"One more thing. Eponine will be joining us tomorrow. Don't be surprised if she joins our meetings frequently. She is now just as much a part of this as you are. Look upon her as an example for what we want to achieve. Treat her kindly and with the respect she deserves, and there will be no problem."

Without another word, he turned his back to the table and wondered over to the window. The stunned silence quickly resumed it's way to mumbles and mutters among the students. Eponine stayed with them no longer than a moment (just enough time to quickly shove the remaining bread and cheese into her pocket with care) as she was up on her feet, his jacket falling to the chair, forgotten.

Pride consumed her thoughts. She had seen it before; the passion and determination that he had let slip just then. She knew he was capable of leading these men, and it was down to him to find his methods. The strength with which he had spoken and held himself was nothing less than grand. The sheer power in which he commanded was enough to send shivers down her spine.

When she reached him, she saw him staring down at the darkened street outside the cafe, his eyes dark and his lips parted as he appeared slightly short of breath. She could barely contain her excitement. "That was..."

A wince of regret pinched his features. "I apologise for my-"

"Brilliant," she breathed. "If you can speak like that in front of the people, then you're sure to win them over."

Slowly, he turned to her. His eyes were filled with question. "That was a loss of control and patience."

Eponine shook her head with a smile tugging at her lips. "No...that was passion, and strength, and everything you want to be." Without hesitation, she reached out and placed her hand on his, squeezing gently. It was a gesture of assurance and praise. A gesture that said 'Well done. I'm proud of you' without any words at all. "Hold onto that. Please." She watched as his eyes fell to their touching hands, and the thought grasped her mind that it might not have been correct. That he would not want her touch. Quickly, she pulled her hand away, before shyly offering him one more warm smile. "I'll see you tomorrow."

As she turned to move towards the steps, she heard his voice quickly arise above the noise of the busy cafe patrons. "You're leaving?"

She looked back toward him and shrugged. "There's nothing more I can do here. I can only show them tomorrow."

A corner of his lip twisted in thought, before his body jerked back into action. "Then I'll walk you home-"

"No, please. You've spent the day with me, I suppose you're getting tired of my company."

"I doubt I ever would." The comment hung in the air briefly for consideration, but was quickly replaced with, "At least let me get someone else to escort you."

That made Eponine snort aloud. Many times had she wondered the streets alone in the dark. Self-defence and street smarts had become as natural as breathing to her now. She sent him a mischiefious grin. "I can take myself home. No stranger would dare mess with me, Sir. I'm trouble."

A smile curled the corners of his mouth. "If you insist." Looking back towards his friends, Enjolras watched her with gentle eyes. A look that seemed somehow much more familiar than the person who had spoken aloud just minutes ago. "You're always welcome here, Eponine. If ever you feel troubled or lonely, I'll be here."

The thought settled strangely in her stomach. The street had been her only consistancy for many years now. This place, this warm, friendly place where there was hot food and comforting voices and sounds...this was someplace where she should not be. A place where she would not normally be if it were not for this bizarre turn of events.

Yet, this cafe, where Enjolras appeared to spent most of his time, and where the thoughts of intelligent learners shared the same space...it seemed like somewhere she wanted to be.

Yes, perhaps she would return here. Whilst she could get away with it.

But of course, she would not let him know how much the idea fitted nicely into her head. "I'm sure I can find another, more sophisticated place to ease my troubles," she said, accompanied with a half-hearted wave of a hand. "But thank you. Goodnight, Monsieur Enjolras."

"Goodnight," replied her Monsieur with a smile.

A smile that remained as he watched her descend down the stairs, to wonder the cold air of the black, empty night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

**Thanks for so much support and reviews for this fic, everyone! I'm sorry for the long wait, but I was on holiday. But I have returned, and tried as best as I could to bring this to you quickly. Hope you enjoy!**

**(Side note: A really lovely graphic was posted in response to a chapter from this story on Tumblr by agnesgreys. Post number is post/47198624499. She also wrote some really sweet comments in the tags about this fic, so I just wanted to share it as a thank you to her. First time I've ever had something made in response to a fic I've done, so it's very exciting for me. Virtual cookies all around, guys.)**

* * *

_Day 3_

* * *

Enjolras knew the moment he opened his eyes the next morning that the day would be unpredictable.

The previous night had brought many things to his mind, mainly questioning and surprise.

The anger that he had normally held against Grantaire had released itself into something that he had not felt since the formation of the Les Amis. The passion that he felt he had lost returned to him quickly, and had taken over every fibre of his being.

He did not miss the way they looked at him. With curiosity in their eyes, excitement even. Despite Eponine's claims to have known that side of him existed, he couldn't quite believe that it had truly happened.

He knew, deep down, that in order for them to be successful, he would need to cling onto that part of him. Rile the Amis into action. The thrill of his words last night had frightened him, excited him…he had almost forgotten that he had the ability to cause such focus.

Yes, he would need to put that into practice.

Shortly after he woke, he had eaten a little (his thoughts occupied his hunger) and got himself ready for the day ahead.

He was anxious and impatient to see what Eponine would bring to the Amis. Of course, he knew that the day would consist of, and he knew the vile things that they might see. The Amis would not have the faintest clue as to the magnitude of their cause.

There were many expectancies in his mind as to what the day would bring. He could picture it already. He doubted the Amis would even remember to show, or that Eponine would not appear. Or perhaps they would be caught by Javert, or another armed guard, and their secrecy would be blown. Of course, he knew that all his worries were simply a result of waiting, and his obsessive nature to detail. Nothing more.

He quickly learnt that his troubles were wrong, as when he made his way out onto the street and down to the end of _Place Saint-Michel, _the Amis were ready and waiting for him. From Courfeyrac to Marius, they were all there, even Grantaire. Although Enjolras could see his unwillingness from across the street, and he suspected that one of the others had dragged him along.

He could not suppress the small chuckle that arose in the back of his throat at the sight of his friends. How funny they looked, so out of place in their study clothes with their jackets and nervous faces! Briefly, his mind wondered back to a few days previous, when Eponine had muddled his clothing and hair. How her hands had worked quickly and carelessly.

The sound of his name being called quickly brought him back from pointless daydreams. He looked over, and saw Marius flagging him over from across the road. Enjolras cleared his throat, and marched over to the group.

"_Bonjour, amis_." His voice floated through the air between his friends, causing them to settle into silence at his arrival.

"_Enjolras," _Marius started, wearing his ever-present smile on his young face. "Good morning to you."

"And you." He sensed their eyes on him, waiting demands, orders, or anything that will settle their curious minds. "Well," he breathed. "Today should be interesting at the least."

Joly became clear in his vision, his arms crossed tightly around himself as he stood awkwardly, looking back and forth between the wall behind him and an empty wine crate, as if deciding which were the most unhygienic. "What exactly are we to be doing? I take it that it will not be too risky as to unveil ourselves to the authorities."

"Nothing like that," he assured. "You should pay attention, watch and listen to the world in which we are about to enter. See what we are fighting for. Let it absorb you and empower you. Just listen to what Eponine has to say. She's very wise, and I'm sure she will inspire you as she has done with me."

No sooner than a moment after the words had left his mouth, Enjolras regretted them.

His fellow students exchanged glances, before letting their mouths spread into wide, knowing grins.

Jehan was the first to speak then, his romantic mind already whirring. "_Oh-la-la_, Enjy," he purred. "Are we feeling a little attached to the girl?"

Laughter rippled through them, and Enjolras felt hot blood rush to his cheeks. "No," he bit out, already feeling childish in his embarrassment.

"I think he is," Combeferre chuckled. "Perhaps last night was something else entirely."

"What do you mean?"

"My dear friend," Jehan grinned, moving towards him to place a friendly arm around his shoulders. "I believe Combeferre is wondering whether last night was purely to introduce us to your new muse, or because you did not want to leave her so early in the night?"

Enjolras huffed and shrugged his arm away. "Don't be foolish. Eponine is a friend, if that. As if there could be anything remotely romantic between us anyway." The words were harsh, but his urgency to get his friends off his nerves was too dominant to allow consideration to censor his thoughts.

"Now you're sounding all bitter! Don't lose your temper," grinned Combeferre. "It's all in good humour."

"Of course, the idea is too good to be true," Marius said, his cheeks practically red with glee. After all, he rarely had such an opportunity to tease his friend like this. "Enjolras could never get entangled in something so scandalous."

"Picture it! Our marble leader, our friend of stone…"

"In love with a _gamine!_"

Laughter seemed to burst around him then. Whilst the joke was harmless enough, Enjolras felt his blood run hotter than normal at that moment. Why was this so amusing to them? A meaningless comment that had slipped out had somehow prompted them to express their views of him as a heartless man. Someone incapable of love. He was reserved, yes, maybe even resistant to too much emotional expression, but he never thought it that dramatic.

And after all, who was to say that he _couldn't_ fall in love with someone like Eponine?

Before he let his mind take over the matter entirely, he forced a shadow of a smile to appear on his face. "Alright. Yes, very funny. Can we return to being adults now?"

Once the laughter had died out, Enjolras found himself glad that at least the group was in good spirits.

The next voice he heard appeared from the ground. "Well, are we to stand around here all day?" Grantaire wondered aloud, rising from a toppled wine crate that has become his seat. His eyes were rimmed with red, always a shadow from his previous night's drinking.

"Just wait, be patient. She will come." He felt his face fall as he could barely believe himself. Turning, he decided to take a moment to himself, to allow breath for the thoughts in his head. "Talk amongst yourselves."

He was relieved to find that none of his friends followed him as he stepped away from the small group of men.

How odd. That conversation had taken control of his mind far too easily. He did not like it one bit.

Eponine was a strange thing. Strange, and wonderful. She interested him, and accessed his most quiet thoughts with the blink of an eye. Even the smaller things she did occupied his thoughts for unknown reasons. The way she moved, quickly and quietly, like only one who had been trained to do so could. The way she could move from an enchanting, commanding woman one moment, to becoming a curious, bashful girl the next.

Before he could even begin to think of the previous conversation regarding her, a small force tugged his eyes down to waist level, where a young figure stood.

When he caught sight, Enjolras was surprisingly pleased to see the small blonde boy at his side.

"Gavroche?" He felt his lips spread into a warm smile at the boy. "Well, _bonjour_."

Gavroche stared up at him with wide eyes, excited and energetic. "_Bonjour_ Monsieur."

"How are you?"

"Not too bad. Takin' it as it comes, Sir."

"Good lad," Enjolras replied, patting the boy's shoulder once with gentle assurance. "Is Eponine with you?"

"Said she'd be a little late. Nothing to worry 'bout." The boy's head tilted to the side, just past Enjolras to glance over at the Amis. Enjolras remembered his expressions of interest towards the revolution. "She also said that I could come along with you and yer' group."

Enjolras smirked to himself. He knew, that just like Eponine, this boy was capable of creating well thought lies. However, he would never deny letting the boy in on their world of ideas and revolutions. Also, the strange look of wonder in his eyes reminded Enjolras of when he was a child. When he would walk out with his family and see the poor on the streets. "Well, I suppose there's nothing wrong with that. Are you going to help me?"

Gavroche straightened himself and nodded firmly. "Yes, Sir."

"You can call me Enjolras."

"If you say so," shrugged the gamin in return.

"Come along." Slipping his hand onto Gavroche's shoulder, he guided him towards the Amis.

They seemed to be so deep in conversation, that they scarcely noticed the return of their leader and the newcomer.

"_Amis_," Enjolras spoke aloud, drawing quiet from his friends almost instantly. "This is Gavroche. He's to be coming with us today. He's Eponine's-"

"Bloody 'ell, Monsieur! You been on the bottle?" Gavroche cut across, his eyes practically popping at Grantaire's well-worn appearance.

Eyes quickly flew to the slumped figure on the wine crate. Grantaire crossed his arms tightly against his chest, arching an eyebrow towards the young boy in scrutiny. "What's it to you?" he shot back, sounding defensive, and frankly, just as childish as Gavroche.

The boy watched Grantaire with careful eyes, his lips twisting as if in deep thought. The rest of the Amis seemed to be drawn to him, awaiting on whatever response would come. Finally, he spoke, althought it was an unexpected conversation change that took back practically every man within hearing distance. "You don't look very heroic, do ya?"

Quiet fell amongst the students. However, after a moment of pause, a warm chuckle errupted from Courfeyrac's throat. He took a step forward and looked down at the boy. His grin on his almost child-like face turned lopsided in amusement. "What did you expect us to look like? We're just students, boy."

"I suppose," Gavroche shrugged in return, although he hardly sounded convinced that that was a good justification.

Enjolras watched Courfeyrac become drawn in. The student, perfectly entertained by his conversation with the child, moved closer and bent down to eye level. "You're hardly in any place to judge, little man," he teased, reaching forward to ruffle the tangled hair atop Gavroche's head. "You must be four-foot nothing."

A ripple of laughter ran amongst the Amis. Gavroche, sensing that he was losing his power, gave Courfeyrac's arm a gentle shove away. "Oi. I'm small, but the pup grows," he warned, sending the older man a challenging glare. It seemed to amuse more than strike fear like he had hoped.

"You're awfully confident, aren't you?"

"Have to be."

There was a moment of silence between the student and the boy that caught Enjolras with curiosity. They watched each other for a moment, as if talking with no words. As if they were quietly sizing each other up, or daring the other to press the rapport furthur.

Finally, after what seemed like long enough, it was the student that gave in, extending his hand out. "Courfeyrac."

"Gavroche," replied the boy, taking the larger hand in a firm shake.

A small clearing of the throat made Enjolras turn and spot her a few feet away. At her appearance, he felt his mouth pull into a smile. She walked towards him with her head down, her feet taking quick, short steps towards him.

"Eponine." As he stared upon her face, the grin slowly slipped from his lips. She looked blank, and her eyes were dull, uncoloured with the usual sparks that shimmered in their reflection. Although he was no master of figuring emotion, he could tell rather quickly that this was a kind of sadness. As she moved closer, his hand twitched by his side on some strange instinct. However, he withheld himself from reaching out to her. He knew his boundaries. "…Are you alright?"

Slowly, and with some struggle it seemed, she lifted her eyes from the ground and moved the muscles in her lips that made a smile. It was forced and unreal in every sense. "Yes. I'm perfectly fine, Monsieur." She looked towards the Amis, her gentle brow creasing in their direction. "Shall we move on?" Without waiting for a reaction, she turned lightly on her heels and walked towards the group, leaving Enjolras still in his place in a daze of confusion.

He did not know what to do. He was no expert in female behaviour. Clearly she was not alright, yet she firmly told him otherwise. Was he supposed to drop the matter? Or perhaps she wanted him to push further?

A small tinge of ache appeared in his temples. Somehow life now seemed much more complicated than it had been. It all seemed a little simpler when he had nothing else to deal with than the Amis.

The thoughts wrestled in his mind painfully as he remained oblivious to Eponine's discussion with the students. Before he could bring himself to become aware, they were up and moving, following Eponine into the darkened gaps between buildings; mazes to the poorer streets in which they would spent the rest of the morning.

He slipped through the gaps behind them, hearing laughter ahead. Deeper voices of his friends, a relaxed, friendly chorus of chuckles in response to something humorous said. Another sound, however, hit him harder than the others. A slightly melodic, sweet sound that rumbled between the walls. Eponine.

Her laughter was musical, slightly roughened for a girl of her age, and delightful in every sense. It almost struck Enjolras dumb to the bone.

It was then he realised how grateful he was to be caught behind his friends, less they see his stunned expression.

Enjolras found himself quickly impressed by Eponine's ability to lead the Amis through the streets with such ease.

Although part of him secretly liked to think that perhaps she enjoyed their private sessions a little more.

She was clever; splitting the Amis into managable sizes, a pair here, a few there...scattering them amongst the street so they could explore in good time. She sent Gavroche off with Jehan and Marius (although he insisted that Courfeyrac join also) to talk with the children. Soon they were near to playing, although the men did not quite run around as willingly as Gavroche and his friends. Combeferre and Joly chose to wonder aimlessly and observe the people quitely, whilst the remaining Amis Bahorel, Feuilly, and Lesgle went off with some sous to distribute.

Pride grew in Enjolras when he saw this, as he had not instructed them to do so. No, this was their own prompting.

Grantaire however, stuck behind and spoke to Eponine. Enjolras watched from a distance, never intruding on the conversation that went on for an extended amount of time. However, from his obvservations, it seems that surprisingly, Grantaire did most of the talking.

It was only when Grantaire chose to leave Eponine to find the others did Enjolras go to her.

"You got him to properly discuss something," he commented, wearing a slight smirk. "Something I have failed to do for a while now."

Eponine glanced towards him briefly, before turning her eyes back out to the squalid scenery before them. "Yes, well, perhaps if you listened to him more. He does have decent thoughts and ideas. Perhaps you should talk with him about something other than his drinking habits."

Enjolras blinked. "Grantaire? ...Eponine, I doubt he has the thought capability of a rug. He's been with the Amis long enough to prove his passion."

"Perhaps you shouldn't be so arrogant," came a bitter reply.

"...Excuse me?" Enjolras frowned at Eponine's response, feeling clueless in her sudden annoyance with him. "Have I-"

Enjolras found his voice being cut into silence as a rippled cry rung through the moving crowds.

Both whipped their heads to the centre of the road. An aged woman, ran crying through the passing people, begging. Her voice was so inhuman, so toxic with pain and pleading, that Enjolras could not even begin to understand her words clearly. She grabbed at people's clothing, tugged on their legs, begging for someone to listen. He watched as people tried to avoid her, turning their heads away and quickly mumbling against her pleas. A familiar agitation grew inside him once more.

Barely a moment more passed before he found himself moving towards her, his hand gently grazing Eponine's as he hurried towards the distressed woman.

When he had found his way to her, she was on the hard ground, sobbing into the dampened road on her hands and knees. Her cries sounded more like howls, and was sharp against his ears.

"Madame," he spoke softly, kneeling to the ground beside her.

It was only at this proximity could he hear actual words; low, pitiful mumbles of "_Aider! Aider_!" At the sound of his voice, she raised her head. Now he could see her face, caked in dirt and cracked with wrinkles. Her hair was only there in clumps, uneven tangles of dirty tresses. She reached out and grasped tightly against the fabric of his jacket on his arms. "Monsieur, please! Help!"

It was then that another pair of hands appeared. Enjolras watched as Eponine appeared as his side, leaning forward to pry the woman's hands away from his arms.

"Don't do that," she chided, her voice gentle but with a hint of firmness. She took the woman's shaking hands, allowing the woman to clutch at her instead.

"What's the matter?" Enjolras continued, ignoring Eponine's unnecessary interference.

The woman choked out a response. "My…husband…help him…no time…pain…"

He waited no longer to hear her speak. He placed a hand on her upper arm, lifting her from the grim street floor. "Take us to him," he insisted, allowing himself to be hurried from their spot towards a hidden crevice past a line of waiting carriages.

Eponine whispered quietly behind him, her smaller feet almost flying across the ground to keep up. "You do not have to see this, let me go."

"I have to try and help." Enjolras found his mind spark angrily at the thought of Eponine's consideration of him as a coward. He would not wince away from these harsh realities. It was his duty to help.

He found himself being pulled to an alley, where a small crowd had gathered. The woman cursed and parted them angrily. As the figures parted, Enjolras was drawn to silence.

Gathered on the ground were a few ratty blankets shifted into a bed-like form. Buckets surrounded the make-shift bedroom, and small, dark puddles of water had formed groggily from a leak in the piping above.

Was this their home? Enjolras shivered. The woman dropped to the ground again, murmuring towards the pile of rags. He squinted, and quickly realised that amongst the blankets was a frame; a person! Someone so small and thin that he scarcely could notice them.

"I'm here, _mon âme_," the woman assured the lump. "Breath slow."

The figure moved just slightly, enough to reveal a withered and pale face that barely moved with speech. "…So much…pain…"

"Monsieur," Enjolras found himself speaking. He crouched down, ignoring the foul stench that stung his nostrils. "Are you hurt? Has someone attacked you?"

When the man responded only with a low whine, the woman shook her head for Enjolras. "He has not eaten in weeks. He is dying, Monsieur."

He looked down to the man, who was hissing in pain, his limbs jerking in small movements. A sinking feeling rocked his chest. He knew that most of the poor died on the streets of hunger or abuse, but he had never actually seen it happen. Nor had he planned to.

Yet, he turned towards the man's wife, and caught her moist, reddened eyes. He knew he could not leave. He had to do something. Anything that might help.

Eponine's voice quietly murmured in his ear. "Enjolras, don't." Her voice was thick with warning. "There's nothing we can do. He's dying. This isn't-"

He sends his eyes sharply to meet hers, silencing her words almost immediately with his powerful stare. "No, he isn't." Without a moment's thought, he spun his head and let out a demanding call. "Joly!?" His sharp call brought a jolt from both Eponine and the wife. "Joly, where are you!? Get yourself here now!" He turned to the woman and placed a hand on hers, feeling eyes on his back from the on-lookers. "Madame, I have a friend who is a medical student. He might be able to do something-"

"Don't," Eponine hissed towards him. Her eyes pierced fiercely into his, which he returned with an equal stern stare. "Don't give her hope, Enjolras."

Enjolras could not bring himself to respond to Eponine's demands. Desperation clawed at his insides like hot coal, and he felt a sharp exhale of breath escape as he dropped his gaze down to the man.

"Hold on, Monsieur," he insisted. "Joly!"

A voice called back his name in return from a short distance. Enjolras snapped his head up, just in time to see Joly stumble into the darkness to join them, weaving his way through the watchers to where he was crouched down.

"Help this man," Enjolras instructed, rising from the ground. "Do what you can."

Joly got to the ground (attempting to hide a wince as his knees touched the mouldy pavestones) and inspected the figure. Enjolras watched carefully for Joly's face, catching every crease at the eye, every tightening of the lip as he went about his business. The man's wife watched the young student quietly as he questioned her under his breath. Enjolras knew his friend well enough to know that there was not one good thing about this situation, and he chose to slip away into the quiet space that he needed to breath.

He moved back, almost stumbling into the small crowd that he forgot was behind. Children watched the scene, he noticed, with wide eyes and quiet faces. Perhaps they belonged to the couple. Maybe they were about to lose their father.

A breath he didn't know he was holding back was released. His back was suddenly met with the damp brick behind him, and he soon lost sight of the man and his wife. Joly's figure was soon clouded by the figures of curious on-lookers.

A thought stood out sharply in his mind.

This man died of hunger. He starved to death, until his skin was hollow, his eyes were empty, and his body had reduced to nothing but a constant ache. Whilst the rich and greedy fill themselves up, there are many people like this stranger. He was most likely not the first to die today.

Enjolras turned his head slightly to the opening of the alley, where the darkness flowed and faded into the street. There, suddenly, where the faces of the rest of the Les Amis. His Amis. Helpless, frightened faces of disbelief.

_Good, _he thought with a biting tone. _Let them watch. Let them see what will happen more and more if we do not do something now._

He pushed himself up from the wall, readying himself to go to them, perhaps say something. But as his feet began to shift and his mind began to whirl, a piercing sound froze his bones to the very core.

An impossibly loud shriek rang between the walls and penetrated his ears. A cry so shrill, so broken, that he thought perhaps he had imagined it.

"No! No!" the voice begged with furious sorrow. "_Mon cher_! Please! Wake up! Help him!" Another howl of pain shook the air around them.

Enjolras collapsed back against the wall, his shoulder hitting the hard brick with force. He did not need to look any closer to know that the man was now dead.

A life lost.

He could do nothing, nor Joly, nor any of the Amis. The only thing they could do was to work harder, fight for the revolution they so desperately needed. The weight of their mission dawned heavily on him then. If they failed, more and more would suffer. More would die...men, women, children.

He thought of Gavroche, with the beaming smile and the passion of a soldier. He would be gone if they did not succeed.

Grief struck his heart like a knife. A loss of control began pounding against his chest, and he soon found his throat drying and hoarse. He wanted to sit, or walk, or run, or anything that would get him away from the screams of anguish as the woman mourned her husband. Yet he could not find the energy to do anything but stand rigid against the wall, his face stone at the ground and his jaw so tight that he thought his teeth might crack.

"_Enjolras!_" Hands pressed against his cheeks and turned his head sharply to the side. As he looked, his eyes fell down to Eponine's wild face, her features sharp with question, and her brow creased in worry.

Her hands were rough and cool against his cheeks. It was enough to shift his mind back to life with one horrifying thought.

_Eponine might die like this. Cold, hungry, and painful._

Reality and experience kicked in sharply to clarify:

_Eponine _will _die like this._

It stung and it burned in his stomach. Suddenly, every fibre of his mind screamed back against the thought with frightening strength.

No, she will not. She will not die like this. No more people will die like this.

His body seemed to live on it's own at that moment. His hands, as if uncontrolled, raised up and brushed her cheeks, settling to cup the sides of her face. Her eyes narrowed towards him, but she barely moved to push him away as his thumb gently grazed her temple, feeling the dirt that has long since settled into her skin uncomfortably.

He was unsure of how long they remained that way. Her hands fell silently to the curve of his shoulders, whilst his continued to cradle her face, unwilling to move.

When another painfully long whine broke through their focus, Enjolras felt Eponine's spine jump at the sound. It's then that he found himself performing the unpredictable, winding one hand to the back of her neck, and pulling her against his chest with desperate haste.

He did not want her to hear the aftermath of death any longer.

Hearing a sharp inhale from her small frame, he waited for her to push him away. But the moment does not come, and he soon felt her petite arms wrap around his back, her fingers gripping tightly against his clothing. The sensation spread a warm, strange feeling through his veins. It was not unpleasant in the slightest. He held her tighter, one hand settling comfortably in her hair and the other falling between her shoulder blades. His arms were able to cover her ears as best as they can, although he knew that there were few things able to block out the sounds.

Enjolras was unsure why he felt this way. Why the idea of Eponine disappearing seemed so unthinkable, so burning to him.

After all, in simple terms, she should mean no more than anyone else to him. She is simply Eponine, his teacher. Eponine, his friend.

Eponine, who he is apparently, not supposed to _fall in love_ with.

Still, despite all these rules and 'supposes', there is one thing inevitably clear.

The idea of her in this dead man's place does nothing but make him draw her closer against him.

He held her long after the woman's broken moans quietened down.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

**Wow, thank you all so much for the really amazing reviews. I'm so glad that you're all enjoying the story. I enjoy writing it, and have come up with some neat ideas for where this is going, and I'm pretty excited. I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

Another side note: _Another _awesome response was made towards this fic, by the lovely** loveholic198 **on Tumblr. She made some really cool gifs and gave a little extract from an eariler chapter. It's **post/47623591379**. Thank you so much to anyone who bothers to make anything about this, because it literally makes my heart do a little jumpy thing. I seriously never get responses like this with anything I do, so it means a great deal to me.

* * *

Eponine's guilt laced voice threaded softly into the bustle of patrons in the café later that evening. "I'm sorry I was terrible to you this morning."

Enjolras could not help but smile softly at her goodness. The Amis sat at a table just a few feet away, talking in hushed, grim voices about the day's events. Gavroche sat with them, and had insisted on coming to see their secret den of planning.

After the misfortunes of the afternoon, they had retired back the café to restore themselves. Despite himself, Enjolras felt that what they had witnessed would become useful to them. If they could harness that shock, that sense of disturbance, the Amis would be able to progress smoothly.

He found himself questioning his blunt mentality slightly, as not just a few hours ago they had seen a man die. However, he convinced himself it was all in the nature of progress, and that his forwardness towards the situation was simply a way of coping.

They left the grieving widow, knowing that there was nothing more that they or anyone else could do.

Eponine had not said much since they left. He had brought her some more food which she thanked him for quietly, sat in the corner by the widow, and ate in silence.

It was only just then, after he had sat beside her and joined her quietness, that she had properly spoken.

He leaned forward with his chin on his hand watched her with careful eyes. "It doesn't matter, Eponine."

Eponine released a small, self-loathing scoff and rolled her eyes to the heavens. "Don't excuse my behaviour."

Feeling his eyes burrow into a frown, Enjolras knew she easily chastised herself for doing what she thought was wrong. He was not angry at her in the slightest, nor did he believe he would ever feel anything more than perhaps a petty annoyance towards the girl. "I won't ask you why you talked to me like you did. It's not my place." He saw her eyes flick up to him. "But if you chose to talk to me about what made you upset, I'll listen."

Eponine watched him for a few moments, her face softening. He knew she did not think he would let her speak harshly towards him so easily. However, he did not want her to think he was cruel or bitter. Of course, he yearned for respect like every other man, but would hardly feel any strong anger towards a woman. Particularly Eponine. Her stare lasted a few small moments, before she dropped her eyes and turned her head towards the sitting Amis, who appeared to be growing ever more solemn. Her lips traced a faint smile. "I think you've broken them a little."

Enjolras looked to his friends. He felt a heavy heart knowing that their minds were saddened by what they'd seen, but he knew that it would have an effect. He already had plans for tomorrow, hoping to use their new knowledge while it was fresh in their memories. He replied with a deep voice, darkened by acceptance. "If that's what it took for them to understand, then so be it."

When he turned to her, Eponine was watching him carefully. Her eyes were narrowed, as if in deep scrutiny. He wondered whether she thought him cold for speaking so plainly. However, she said nothing, and simply tilted her head slightly in a way that he found he rather enjoyed the sight of.

"I just hope it wasn't too much for _you_ to see," she replied quietly, her voice soft towards him. It sounded caring, something that Enjolras had not encountered recently with anyone else. He could scarcely remembered the last time someone expressed genuine care for him.

He did not want her to think that he was weak. He knew what he needed to do, needed to see. Be it starving citizens, or dying men with hollow skin and painful last breaths. Dropping his eyes from her watchful gaze, he turned to look out the window. "It's necessary," he muttered below his breath.

She hardly looked convinced by his cover. Rather than pester him, however, she wiped her hands against what flimsy, tattered fabric had made her skirt and cleared her throat. "Alright, then," she breathed. Craning her head over her shoulder, she called gently across the room. "Gavroche." She then rose from her seat, sharing a brief smile with the student. "I won't see you tomorrow, Sir."

Enjolras frowned, and stood with her. "You won't?"

"I have to…run some errands with my Father. I imagine I'll be away most of the day."

He did not lose his frown as she spoke. Although he knew that she had spent her life doing what was needed, he heavily disliked the idea of her running off and doing something wrong, or even worse, something dangerous. Poverty after all, was a morally blinding world. Last time she had gone off to do an 'errand', she had returned with a nasty bruise on her face, and the idea of something like that happening once more brought a strange, unpleasant feeling into the pit of his stomach.

He stooped his shoulders and caught her dark down eyes in his. "You don't have to do that," he tried to assure her. "Stay with me tomorrow. …You should be more careful, Eponine."

He quickly wished that he had framed his words differently. That was exactly the type of thing that brought on teasing from the Amis that morning. However, Eponine did not seem to catch the plea for her presence. She simply let a chuckle echo wonderfully in her throat as she shook her head at him.

"I am being careful," she retorted, moving past him to get to the stairs. "I think you're just sour that I'm not going to be here at your command tomorrow. You think my world turns according to your needs?"

That struck him funny. Although he had not wanted to admit it, he found that the idea of missing out on a day's learning with Eponine was rather unfortunate. It was childish perhaps, but he wondered whether she would miss his company also.

It was a feeling that he had felt earlier that day, watching her interact with the Les Amis. A feeling of discomfort in the back of his throat, something rather ugly. It was almost akin to jealousy. He hated the idea of it, but it was unavoidable.

Eponine was his, and he was hers. Anyone else just seemed to be a mist around them.

But of course, he would never say that aloud. "Well…no," he forced, pushing out the words with a remnants of a dry laugh.

She grinned at him knowingly, as if she was already aware of his secret answer. "You'll do just fine without me around." Gavroche appeared by her side then, beaming as wide as if nothing troublesome had happened that day. Enjolras sent a small smile down to him. Eponine patted his shoulder, and ushered him towards the staircase. "Let's leave the Monsieurs be."

Enjolras stood still for a few moments. A feeling of discomfort grew within him like a parasite. The feeling that something strange was brewing could not be shaken.

Suddenly, with quick determination, he rushed towards the top of the steps and called down, just loud enough for her to hear, "Eponine?"

A beat later, her head popped around the corner. She arched an eyebrow, silent in her questioning.

His stare bored into her as he spoke a clear warning. "I mean it. Watch yourself, please."

Eponine's face softened. It appeared she found his concern strange. As if she didn't believe he cared for her safety. But she soon nodded, and upturned a corner of her lip in a manner so absurdly 'Eponine' to assure him. "You too, Sir."

Then she was gone. Like a ghost, she had disappeared from his sight and into the dark.

Despite her assuring him, he still found himself troubled. He chided his own head for being so occupied with the silly idea that Eponine could not care for herself. She was smart, and brave, and incredibly strong. Shame washed over him at his own idea of her being weak enough to get into any serious trouble.

Still, he knew that no matter what tomorrow brought, he would feel better the next time he saw her well and by his side.

He was reminded, at that moment, that the Amis were waiting behind him. In his mind, he already knew the next step. He could see them in his head, burning bright against red flags and black sky. The time was dawning closer, and he knew that now they needed to step forward.

Drawing in a deep breath that shuddered his shoulders and brought out his chest, he faced his friends, and went to the table. "Gentlemen, I hope that today inspired you to think about our next steps." As he found their undivided attention fall upon him, he spoke clearer, finding his confidence. "I have an idea. Perhaps you will disagree with me, but I think it is the next best move forward."

There was a momentary pause in the air between them. However, it was Marius who quickly spoke up. "We're with you, Enjolras," he said, sending a warm smile towards his old friend. "Tell us what you want."

For once, Enjolras was not afraid to share his plans.

He did not believe that the group would brush them off, roll their eyes and return to their mindless drinking chatter. No, this time, he believed that they would listen. They would agree, and just maybe they would feel as if what they were doing would take them somewhere. That what they were fighting for was worth while. Their passions that had disappeared since their first collective ideals were revealed would return and burn bolder than ever.

He knew, with every fibre of his being that this time, they could do it. They could start something big, something revolutionary.

Something right.

However, his plans were sudden, and he hoped that they wouldn't think him to be too haste. Moving beside Marius, he sat down in an empty chair at the table, and leaned forward towards his friends. His elbow propped up on the worn surface of the table, his hand resting against his mouth, making him appear as if he were in deep thought.

"I believe we should show our faces. Expose the Les Amis and our beliefs to France. Tonight I will write to General Lamarque, requesting a formal audience with him. I want to meet with him and explain our plans. If he agrees to see me, then I believe he will side with us."

A silence fell amongst the table.

It was then, of some strange act of the mind, that Enjolras wondered if people questioned their presence sometimes in the Cafe. Of course, it was never particularly busy inside, partly one of the reasons why they had chosen to make it home of the Les Amis. Most other occupants knew of their cause. Some supported it, some didn't, yet no-one else ever sat with them, or listened to their conversations. When they had moments like this, simply sitting in silence with thoughtful, heavy faces, did anyone even think to look twice at them?

It seemed a long time after he had spoken before someone else took hold of the silence. Jehan's voice sneaked in quietly through the distant conversations of other patrons. "Tonight? You're writing him tonight?"

Enjolras replied with an affirming nod. "Yes." He cleared his throat quickly, desperate to continue this; the sheer strength in which he felt at that moment. Actually being able to hold his friends' attention for a reason greater than their attempt to humour him. "As for revealing ourselves, I plan that we hold a public rally. Speak to the people and gain support. The police force will see the magnitude of what we are trying to accomplish. They won't dare tread on us."

"...What if nobody shows?" Courfeyrac asked. His eyes were creased with worry. Enjolras understood the truth behind the question, he himself had thought that very thing whilst developing his idea.

He looked towards Courfeyrac, his face softening to assure his friend. "People will show. Tomorrow we will go to the streets and tell people of the rally. Use your knowledge and passion- show them what we want! If the people believe we can help them, then they will fight with us."

No-one chose to respond. Whether they were silently debating with themselves, or whether they were just too impatient to care anymore, it gave Enjolras a feeling of distain either way. Perhaps he had overthought the effect of what the day had on them. Maybe he was reaching to far for the stars so early on.

His eyes fell to the ground, tightening his lips as he tasted a bitter disappointment. "It's time to finally show ourselves." He spoke in a deep, low voice, hoping that they would try to remember. Try and feel what they did on those first few days as a revolutionary group. When they were excited and capable, and spoke of nothing but a better tomorrow for the people of France. When they believed they would chance history. "There's no good coming from us sitting up here in the dark dreaming of a new tomorrow. We must start now."

But again, silence took hold. He watched their faces, feeling more and more dejected as he watched them exchange careful glances with each other. Turning to Marius, he felt a hand tighten around his chest as he watched him stare into the dampened wood of the table.

Perhaps he had jumped too early. It seemed they simply weren't ready.

Maybe they would never be ready, no matter how much he wanted them to be.

Without another word, Enjolras rose slowly from his seat. He nodded towards nobody in particular at the table, an accepting look on his face and a sadness in his eyes that without voice said _'Very well. I can see where you stand. You win_.'

He turned from them, feeling his shoulders rise and fall automatically with a mindless instinct. Everything he has done, sacrificed, everything Eponine _has done for him, _was all for nothing.

As he was about to move to leave the Amis, a voice spoke above the rest.

"…I'll stand by you."

Enjolras paused in his movements. Surely, it was his imagination? Yet, when he turned, he and the rest of the Amis had their eyes falling on none other than Grantaire. Grantaire, the one who never did anything but tease and taunt Enjolras. They watched each other for a moment, and Enjolras saw a kind of surrender in the infamous drunkard's eyes. A tired, but almost satisfied stare that seemed as if he was finally giving up his irritating facade of carelessness.

Grantaire, despite himself and everyone else at that moment, reached up and took a small sip of wine (straight from the bottle, of course) between his lips. His eyes never teared away from Enjolras as he wiped his lips with his sleeve and continued. "But only if you speak for us."

It was as if something had been broken. A spell or a silent curse that made the others lose their words. Marius finally raised his voice then. "I agree," he said, nodding along to the idea. "Nobody else in this group has a better way with words. The people will listen to you, Enjolras."

Grantaire continued. "If anyone's going to convince them we can do it, it's you."

Enjolras could not help himself, and arched an eyebrow in the other's direction at his sudden interest in the cause. "You suddenly believe in the power of the people?" he asked, doubt lacing his voice.

"No," Grantaire replied. His voice dropped in tone, and his eyes fixated on his suddenly commanding leader. "I believe in you."

There really was no clear answer for that. Enjolras honestly wished at that moment that Grantaire hadn't declared that in front of everyone else. He felt the air around him quickly turn uncomfortable, and he waited for laughter amongst the others. However, it never came, and instead of sending him sniggering glances like he had expected, the Les Amis looked less than shocked at the confession, and simply nodded their heads, as if they had already known.

He chose to swallow his discomfort, and instead of shying away at the comment, he sent Grantaire a quick nod of the head, and gently spoke under his breath. "Very well." He knew then, above anything else, that they were all on one side. A sense of pride, and fearful excitement ravished at his mind. It was beginning.

Turning his stare away from the student, he spoke once more to the table, who were now hanging on his every word. "Combeferre, Bahorel, and Lesgle, we need you to make some leaflets to hand out and spread the word. I know a man by the name of Edgard down in _Bourse_ who won't ask questions. You will go first thing tomorrow and get as many printed as you can."

They nodded with his orders. "Yes, Enjolras."

"Everyone else, we're going down to the streets tomorrow to inform. I need everyone to be serious and maintain focus." Another idea struck his mind like a brilliant flash of lightning at that moment. "Bring any unwanted food you have back at your homes. We're going to be distributing some necessities also. Anything you have is fine. ...Does anybody have a map?"

Joly was already on his feet, bringing over a large roll of paper from a corner table, which had sat for weeks with books and papers, forgotten. "We have one here."

It was rolled out to reveal Paris on their table, and soon the Les Amis were on their feet, eyes circling their city like gods.

Enjolras directed them around the view with his hand. "I want to break up into smaller groups in order to circulate. Marius and I will circle the _Place de Bastille_. I want to find Gavroche to get him to discreetly deliver my note to Lamarque."

"You trust he'll get it there safely?" Combeferre asked.

Enjolras nodded instantly. "He's one of us. He wanted to help, so we'll let him." After all, they would need a smart, quick young boy to watch the streets for them. Gavroche was the perfect choice. "Courfeyrac, you, Joly, and Jehan will cover the Place de la Republique. Grantaire and Feuilly will remain around here and gather familiar faces."

Grantaire, seemingly unknown to his previous confession, sent a sly grin over to his leader. "Stay here? No problem."

"That's no excuse to do nothing," Enjolras retorted, chearing Marius chuckle lowly by his side. His plans revealed, he straightened, and watched over his friends. He spoke in a proud voice. "Tomorrow is a new day. When we rally, the people will rise, I promise you that. Everything we hoped for will be closer to our grasp." A smile twitched at his lips. "...Drink tonight in celebration, but be ready tomorrow for change."

Grantaire raised the bottle that seemed to be moulded to his hand. "Viva la France," he announced, before swinging it back with glorious haste to gulp down a swallow.

A chorus of voices, tuned with excitement and anticipation chimed in, "Viva la France!" Smiles and laughter seemed to burst around them, and chatter came as naturally as anything.

Enjolras watched with wide and wondering eyes. He felt his blood pump and his heart beat around his body with the ecstasy of his own words. His own voice felt like fire and passion and everything he had wanted to return to him.

This is who he was; a leader with grand effect. He felt every lesson from Eponine swell in his mind and he knew that there was nothing but God himself who could stop them now. France was their's, and with it, they would bring equality and fairness for everyone.

From that moment, it was them. The Les Amis, Eponine, and himself.

Together, they would do_ Patria_ proud.

* * *

He had bid his goodbyes quickly that after that.

Desperate to put his energy to good use, Enjolras all but ran home in order to write his letter to Lamarque.

Stripping himself of his jacket and lighting a single candle, he found a few blank papers muddled amongst his thousands of notes across his small home and placed himself down to write.

He found that words came to him easily.

Ink stained his fingers as he wrote quickly, his heart pounding with excitement. So many things he wanted to say, yet not all of them perhaps safe to share.

Words of struggles between ruling classes and the poorer citizens of France poured out of him. He spoke of what he had seen, as a child, and as a man. The images that moulded him into who he was; why he did was he was doing. He spoke of the Les Amis, their goals and a world of which they dreamed.

Part of him wanted fiercely to write about Eponine. He could have prattled on for pages and pages about her strength and bravery, her intelligence which was not seen past her ragged clothes and dirty face. Yet he knew it best not to mention any names other than his own. Anyways, he knew he needed to keep this letter as brief as possible, and writing about someone as complex and wonderful as Eponine was no small task.

His mind for a moment wondered why so much of him found it so straining to stop thinking of her.

However, he spoke of what she taught him. About the children on the streets, the dying man, the agressive and violent behaviour of the police and the rich citizens whom they encountered.

He proposed a meeting with the General, insisting that he could speak better with words than write them. Making sure to note down their plan for a pulic rally, Enjolras also made sure to emphasise his seriousness towards the cause. He did not want to be thought of as some silly, over-ambitious young boy. No, this was more important to him than simple words could express. This was what he was made to do.

Glancing at his pocket watch deep into the night, he realised that he had far surpassed any hope of a full night's sleep. He signed the letter as simply _Enjolras _and folded it carefully, slipping it into an envelope and addressing the General.

He left it on his table and made his way into his bed, limbs suddenly heavy with fatigue.

Before he found himself slipping into sweet darkness, he wondered whether a simple note could tip the scales like he hoped possible.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

* * *

_There was red, and blood, and smoke everywhere._

_Nothing could be seen for certain. Although by the hard, cobbled ground beneath his feet, it was only plausible that it was a street of some other world._

_Enjolras found himself wondering into a cloud of darkness and impossible sounds. Black tentrils reached up and caressed his face with sharp fingers, nipping at his clothing, pulling him in all directions._

_He wanted to call out, and opened his mouth to cry aloud, but nothing bar a distressed gasp escaped his lips._

_He heard voices; faint screams of familiar voices that he wanted nothing more than to disappear._

_Cries for help from his friends: Marius, Grantaire, Combferre...all the others followed suit._

_Another scream, Eponine's, hit Enjolras' ears with terrifying desperation. It made him battle against the restraining hands harder and harder with no advail. Panic enveloped his soul and limbs at once._

_"You promised!" the voices cried. "You let us die! You let us down! Now you must stay here with us!"_

_"No!" was the only thing Enjolras could scream out. "No, wait!"_

_Gunshots echoed around him like the sound of cannons. Closer and closer, each shot with more force than the last._

_He looked down, feeling the darkness sink into him, his throat, his lungs._

_Red spread against his shirt, in a great gash on his chest. No pain, but still so much blood._

_Hands, or perhaps smoke, reached around his shoulders and up towards his neck, prickling his skin with a strange affection._

_It was then that there was a whisper in his ear, unmercifully cold and calm._

_"For liberté," it hissed. _

_Then it's claws were around his neck, and he only had time to inhale a quick breath before there was a sharp twist._

And then there was light.

Enjolras awoke with a pained cry, his whole body jolting as his eyes flew open to meet the brightness.

A hot layer of sweat lay upon his body, plastering the heavy air against his skin.

His chest rose and fell with panted breaths. The window by his bed let in a sharp stream of early morning light that fell across his bed sheets. How grateful he was that the sun contrasted so heavily with the darkness of his nightmare. It brought him back to life, back to a reality in which he felt safe and certain.

Enjolras felt his heart beat at an impossibly rapid pace beneath his chest. The horrors of his dream had brought his pulse up to a worrying tempo, and a shudder ran down his back.

"_Mon Dieu_," he shakily breathed against his palm. Flinging the sheets back, he slipped from the confinements of his bed and up onto his feet. Spying the door to his small bathroom, he moved towards it, feeling a deep ache in his neck as a result of the tensions from the night.

Reaching his hand basin, he ran some water and let it puddle in his hands.

He splashed the water against his warm face, feeling relish in the cold droplets that trickled down his nose and chin. Breathing a deep lungful of air, Enjolras shut his eyes tightly.

He rarely dreamed anymore, let alone nightmare. It had been so clear, so distressing. Never before had he awaken in such a horrid rush of fear.

Although he knew it had meant nothing; just an expression of the nerves he was feeling so recently.

His eyes flew open quickly, not wishing to let the darkness rekindle the fearsome images. Before him, his reflection stared back; another man watching him with close scrutiny.

Enjolras fixated upon his own face, contemplating how strange it was that he saw both his parents in his features. With the strong jaw of his father, and the sharp grey-blue eyes of his mother, he was a complete portrait of both, whether he wanted to be or not. His skin was untainted by the effects of outdoor labour, and uncracked by lines caused by laughter or sadness. Both of which he rarely expressed in his lifetime.

It was this, sadly, that reminded him most of his father. The man who never smiled, never valued the love of his family over much else. The man who Enjolras had spent most of his childhood straightening his back and zipping his lips for.

Although he had never taken great concern to uphold his appearance, he remembered as a child his mother's consistant fussing.

_Don't dirty your cuffs._

_Straighten your jacket._

_Wipe your face, for goodness sake, what will your father say?_

Habits bred in to him from such an early age had become second nature to him. Everything was manipulated in the interest of presentation. If he wasn't smart enough, that called for a scoulding.

He wondered for a moment, what his parents would think of his company with Eponine. His best guesses were heart attack, or extreme outburst of anger. Or perhaps both. After all, he had spent a rather large portion of his teenage years listening to his mother's voice express the importance of proper behaviour towards a woman. It was nothing he didn't agree with; he was a gentleman after all. Yet, he did not believe that his only prospects of marriage were scattered across his street of ditsy, image-obsessed _girls_ that giggled mindlessly whenever he walked past.

No, they were nothing like what he had believed a woman to be. It had rather disappointed him, and didn't pay much mind to the possibilities of relationships or marriage for quite some time. Part of him had almost forgotten what they were.

Then again, there was always Eponine.

The woman, who in one day, had made his heart beat a little faster and burn a little brighter than even _Patria_ could.

She was hardly defined as 'proper', with her skinny frame and dirt caked skin. However, Enjolras, who had the skill of finding goodness in bad, could see traces of her beauty as clear as day. It was hidden within the dimples in her cheeks that appeared whenever she smiled. In her eyes that were a deep brown, capable of entrapping a man with one glance.

Although his friends joked about his somewhat 'marble' exterior, he knew that certainly in contrast to Eponine, they were right.

Her emotions came and went as freely as they pleased. Often her face contorted with the flicker of a smile, or a crease of a frown. She presented and displayed, whilst he hid and masked. Perhaps it was this contrast that made them so completely different.

If he was a statue, cold and unwavering, then she was a work of art. A portrait of colour and light.

Just then, he released a scoff at his own thoughts.

Perhaps he was spending just a little too much time with Pontmercy.

_All those damn romantics,_ he remarked to himself.

Chosing to leave all other thoughts behind, he moved to dry his face, starting to prepare himself for what would surely be an interesting day ahead.

* * *

_Day 4_

* * *

When he met with Marius, he was assured that the rest of the Les Amis had started the day early. Their campaign had taken off to a good start, with the men taking the morning with excited hearts and passionate words, ready to stir the people. Apparently, even Grantaire had turned up more wide-eyed and alert than usual. That was something revolutionary in itself.

Enjolras and Marius took to the _Place de Bastille_, wearing their pins proudly displayed against their chests. Everything Eponine had taught him ran through his head like a holy mantra. He remembered to be approachable. Speaking to them in words they understood was important.

His new manners seemed to work, and both he and Marius had spent the morning having rather heated discussions with the lesser citizens. They had stories to tell, and things to say about the government. Both the students listened with curious ears. Almost all that they spoke to were keen on the idea of a rally, and it seemed as if, amazingly, that they were drawing people in.

Perhaps they would have a sizable audience after all.

It was below the exceedingly decapitated looking elephant monument that guarded the _Bastille_, that Enjolras and Marius stopped.

Enjolras called up, remembering how Eponine had done before. "Gavroche!" He hoped that the boy was not quite as prone to disappearing as his sister was.

However, to his relief, a small blonde head was just visible from the peak of the statue, and waved down to indicate his coming. He vanished for a few moments, only to appear again like a sneak as he stepped out a gaping hole in one of the legs. He wiped dust from his powder blue jacket.

"Well, _Bonjour, Monsieurs,_" Gavorche beamed at them. "Down in my part of town for any particular reasons?"

Enjolras kneeled down to the ground and spoke to the boy at eye level. The faint traces of a smile passed his lips. "I have a job for you."

Gavroche quirked an eyebrow, before folding his arms across his chest. "No jobs for free. Not even for friends."

Of course. Enjolras had expected nothing different from the young street urchin. He straightened his face to match the boy's seriousness. "Of course not," he honourably agreed. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a few francs he had reserved especially for this occasion. "However, I suppose you will not want double?"

He did not miss the way the young boy's eyes shimmered unwillingly at the coins. How long had it been since he had seen that much money in one place? However, in a manner of pure professionalism that the student could not help but admire, Gavroche restrained himself and bared a toothy grin towards him. "What can I do you for?"

Enjolras held out the thin, white envelope between his fingers. The weight seemed to double in his hand, knowing the prospects that lay inked inside. "This letter is of the upmost importance. I need you to take it to General Lamarque's home."

"Can do." Gavroche reached out, but Enjolras tugged it back.

"Gavroche," he spoke deeply. He watched the child carefully. "This is important. Can you remember that?"

Gavroche looked between Enjolras' stern eyes and the letter. He nodded quickly, affirming and certain. "I'll guard it with my life for ya'."

Enjolras felt his lips crack with a satisfied grin. "Very good." He handed over the letter, followed by the glossy coins which Gavroche shoved into his pocket. He watched as the boy's hand hovered near where he had placed them, as if afraid they might up and run away should he forget to guard them.

As he rose from the ground and watched as Gavroche began to move away, he turned to Marius, sending him an assuring nod.

The small but intrusive voice returned again. "Oi, where's your friend? That Courfeyrac fellow?"

Both students turned over their shoulders to where Gavroche was standing. "He's down at the _Place de la Republique_. You may find him once you've done your task."

With one more cheerful beaming smile and a quick turn of the heels, the boy was gone through the crowds.

Both Marius and Enjolras resumed their journey then, walking slowly and observing the passing people with distant eyes. Both their minds were on other things.

They were both silent then, encapculated by their own thoughts. Enjolras thought of many things; Eponine's whereabouts, whether she was safe, and the rest of the Les Amis, and how their respective activities were panning out.

Marius, however, thought of something entirely different. His hands twitched by his sides, drawing the courage to express his troubles to his dearest friend.

When he spoke, it brought Enjolras back to reality with a sudden jolt. "I believe my grandfather is starting to get suspicious of my distant behaviour," he confessed, fliddling at the fine lining of his jacket. "He's beginning to question where I spent my evenings."

Enjolras felt his lips twist. Sympathy flickered dimly inside him, although not as strong as it once was. The situation with Marius and his Grandfather had been ongoing for quite sometime. "I still don't understand why you simply don't tell him about what you're doing with us. There's no shame in it."

Marius shook his head sadly. "You don't understand, Enjorlas," he spoke, sounding like a troubled child. "How could you? My family still has a reputation that lies on me." He caught himself. Glancing towards Enjolras, who stared back with tight lips, he felt his face fall. "I'm sorry. That was-"

Enjolras raised his hand to silence him. "No foul." Nothing bad resonated from Marius' comment. Honestly, he never thought of his family much anymore. He'd converted all bitterness and anger into energy used for their revolutionary ideas. "Sacrifices need to be made, Marius. I'm sorry to say, but there are now two sides to your life. Your reputation, and your beliefs. You must chose which one you value more."

His friend seemed to slow in his tracks. His young features creased in disbelief, as if he did not understand how his loyalties could be questioned. "You know which one I value."

Enjolras felt his face soften. Reaching forward, he layed a gentle hand on Marius' shoulder. "Then speak to your grandfather," he said softly. "If you like, I can assist you, perhaps."

Marius scoffed, and shrugged his shoulder away from the other's hand. "Oh please, Enjolras. I'm a grown man and can deal with my own problems."

"Hmm, are you quite sure?"

"Oh, ha-ha."

Enjolras felt a smile tug at his lips. Despite his unwavering commitment to the Les Amis and their plans, some part of him had missed the time he used to spent with Marius. When they had first met at the University, they had quickly grown to be close friends. Of course, Marius stuck with Enjolras when he had confessed his ideals for social change, and had helped him form the Les Amis. Whilst the future moved forward, somehow, so did the carefree nature of their youth.

They were men now, and by some unchangable law of nature, their souls had to grow with them.

But of course, it was better to not think of such things.

They continued their route around the _Bastille_, frequently coming across some of the poorer residents of the city. They stopped where a small family of a mother and three children had gathered on the ground, poorly protected from the elements by nothing more than a few feeble sheets of material on which to sit.

Marius bent down, pulling out from his pocket a few sous, and placed them gently on the ground beside them. "_Madame,_" he greeted with a warm smile, at seeing the disbelief shine widely in her hollow eyes.

Enjolras watched the woman reach forward and grab Marius' sleeve, nodding her head and mumbling over and over, "_Merci, merci, Monsieur._"

When Marius had pulled away tactfully and the pair had resumed their walking, the conversation took a new turning.

"Now what about you?" Marius asked, tearing Enjolras' mind away from the sight of two rather vicious looking police officers.

"What about me?"

"Perhaps you could share some of your own issues?"

Enjolras crinkled his nose in return. "I have no issues."

That did not sit with Marius, who simply rolled his eyes. "Oh please. We all know that there is something rather odd going on inside that head of yours."

"I have no idea to what you are reffering."

"To _whom _I am reffering-"

Enjolras slowed to a stop and turned to his friend. "Marius," he admonished. "Be careful about what you imply."

"Jehan and I were discussing it the other day," Marius continued, as if he had heard nothing. "About your strange relationship with Eponine."

"You and Jehan? Oh for God's-"

"We were wondering whether you were actually aware of what was happening."

Enjolras let out an agitated sigh, and turned towards Marius. He placed his hands low on his hips. He could not wait to hear what the other had to say. "Pray tell, Marius. What is happening?"

A wide smile spread across Marius' freckled cheeks. He almost appeared childish with glee. "The way you look at her when she is beside you. How she can make you, a man of strong mind, into nothing more than a pup." He ignored Enjolras' wide eyes as he continued, feeling his imaginative mind take over his words. "How you hang on her every word, and never seem to have a fully functioning mind when she is not around. Not to mention, most obviously, your sudden return of passion for the cause."

Enjolras fell quiet. He knew very well the strange effect that Eponine had on him. It was something he could not help, and something he couldn't quite understand. However, he hadn't counted on anyone else noticing...

"She is teaching me many things. Things that are reminders of the seriousness of the current world," he chose to say. It didn't appear to sit well with Marius, who simply shrugged and went back to his mind's racing thoughts.

"But then again, you don't see her either," he said off-handedly.

"She looks at me like she would any other friend," Enjolras quickly interjected, his brow furrowed. "Such as I do with her. Take care with your words, Marius. I'm not in the mood for such games."

"Upon my word, I do believe you poor little fools are afraid of love!" A delighted laughter fell from Marius' lips.

_Love?_

Love!

Enjolras could have throttled his friend then and there for acting so immaturely.

"_Love? _Oh for God's sake, Marius," he scoulded, choosing to walk away from his entertained friend. When Marius chose to follow his quick strides, Enjolras continued to defend himself with a strict voice. "There is no time for such things. There is no _possibility _for such things. That is something that could never, ever be a consideration with us. We are friends, nothing more!"

Marius, however, looked unconvinced. He simply let his smile settle and mumbled to the side, "Very well..."

"What about yesterday, hmm? When you and the others were naming me, what was it? 'Leader of Stone'? Our 'Marble Friend?'" Enjolras continued, seemingly unable to stop his sudden retort to the accusation. He quickly found he could not let the matter drop. "It seemed to me like you didn't believe I could be capable of such an emotion."

That seemed to fuel Marius furthur. "That's what makes it all the better, my friend!" he exclaimed, stepping ahead of Enjolras and patting his shoulder excitedly. "This girl has cracked your exterior. She has broken whatever barrier you insist putting up around yourself." Seeing that Enjolras would not understand the romantic way of thinking, he gave a quick wave of his hand. "You wouldn't understand. It's something you need to appreciate in order to see. Jehan is positively giddy with joy at the idea. And, well, as for her class issues..."

Enjolras stopped dead in the street.

Turning to Marius, he shot an unmerciful glare into his eyes. "What about her _class issues?_" he asked darkly, in a manner that he never before used with his old friend.

Marius quickly sensed that he had made a mistake. With widened eyes, he gave his head a small shake, and raised his palms to show he meant no offence. "Well, not issues, percée." He struggled for words. "Just...differences."

The damage had already been done. Enjolras felt his face set sternly as he turned his back against Marius. "I would rather not talk about the matter any furthur," he insisted sharply. "You can put any other silly ideas out of your head because I do not want to hear them."

"Very well," came a mumbled reply, like a boy being scoulded.

Enjolras ignored his dejected tone, and strided over towards a young boy playing with a group of pigeons on the ground. As he grew closer, the boy spotted him and froze, as if he considered running from the powerful looking man.

He did not move, however, and Enjolras towered over him when he stopped. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few sous, presenting them in his palm for the lad. "Here, boy," he gently encouraged.

Hesitant at first, the boy soon recovered from his fear and extended his small hand to gather the money. "_Merci_, Sir!" he breathed in disbelief, cradling the coins in his hand.

"You're very welcome." Enjolras stooped his shoulders a little, catching the boy's wild eyes. "Spread the word. There is to be a rally, here, the day after tomorrow. We will speak for the people of France who cannot speak for themselves. We want the rich and greedy to hear the other side."

The boy did not laugh, or walk away. Instead, his eyes shone brightly. It was a moment before he spoke in a wistful, quiet voice. It was as if he thought he were talking to a king. "Who are you speaking to, Sir? The police?"

Traces of a smirk tugged a corner of Enjolras' lips. "We are speaking to everyone," he said proudly. "Bring your friends and family. Bring everyone you know."

"_Oui_!" The boy cried. With a grin that cracked the dirty features of his face, he turned on his heels and ran down the street.

Enjolras straightened himself. Word was spreading fast, and when the time to rally came, there would be no turning back. It lay on their shoulders as an unknown future that was part in bringing about a crucial change for the people.

The thought frightened him, and exhilarated him all at once.

He was only made away of Marius' presence once he heard his voice just beside his shoulder. "You know, Enjolras, I think there's a chance this might actually work," the other man pondered aloud.

"Of course it will," Enjolras replied curtly. The fear of the unknown remained in him, and Marius' consideration made it alive. But he would never let anyone know that there was question in his mind. "Don't be stupid," he muttered quietly. He turned his head slightly, and watched Marius' face show a glimmer of hope, a trace of excitement for what would happen.

Feeling the tension escape his body, Enjolras felt his shoulders slack. Today was a good day, and there was nothing more that could be done. He was proud. A smile creased the skin around his lips, and he reached over to playfully shove Marius to the side.

Marius released an amused chuckle, and the two resumed their journey around the sombre streets.

It could never be said that his friends did not mean the world to him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

**Eponine's back! Yay!...Or perhaps not.**

**Thanks for all the lovely and helpful reviews. I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

It was the kind of night in which you could smell the oncoming storm.

The air was thick with clouds, and the rain was inevitable. Eponine only hoped that she would make it to the_ Café_ _Musain_ quick enough to avoid it.

Her bare feet touched the ground lightly and quickly, her fingers ringing together nervously in hopes that she had not missed the nightly Les Amis meeting. She desperately wanted to see Enjolras, and see how his day went with the poor of France.

She shivered, her arms prickling with goosebumps. Coldness was second nature to her now, but the air was now near freezing with the promise of rain.

Nowadays, it seemed like the café was getting closer and closer to anything that resembled a home. Even though she knew better than to get attached (since everything she loved left her anyway), but she could not help but see Enjolras and the Les Amis as a possible constant.

Enjolras.

The name alone drew her feet quicker.

The image of his face in her mind was enough to distract her that day. She had been assisting her father and the _Patron-Minette_, partaking in one of their infamous house robberies. Her job was mostly watching, waiting for signs of the _cognes _or the owners to make an unwanted appearance.

However, she had been so preoccupied, imagining the sound of that stern, yet soft voice speak words of freedom and equality, that she had neglected to spot the carriage pull up outside the gates.

Her father and his friends had just managed to sneak out unnoticed.

When he had yelled at her, harshly asking what the hell was wrong with his stupid daughter, she had nothing other to say apart from the pitiful excuse that she was simply daydreaming.

At least he had chosen to run off and down his sorrows in alcohol rather than take it out on her.

She'd found it difficult to leave then. Montparnasse had insisted in his usual seductive manner that she stay with him that night.

She was no fool; she knew very well what he thought of her. How he thought of her. Everytime they met, it was the same offer. A warm bed for the night in exchange for a little _company._

No, she was not a fool.

She was a survivor.

They had made that deal, and had gone through with it exactly twice. She had been desperate, not wanting to return to her father's rage. So she had seeked a place to stay. Nobody could judge her for anything, she had done what had needed to be done. However, she had promised herself never to let things get that bad that she would need to endure that again.

So she distracted Montparnasse with a bottle from her father's finest hidden collection, and ditched him for the door as fast as possible.

There was nothing she wanted more than to rid the evening of horrid thoughts and failed jobs. She knew of only one man that could do that.

She felt stupid, really. Every time she looked into Enjolras' brilliant blue eyes, she would be lost. Although she knew that there could never be anything so absurd between them, she liked to let her mind wonder into worlds in which they could possibly exist. Together.

But it was best not to get her hopes up.

After all, there was Enjolras, and there was her. A _gamine_ and a gentleman.

Still, there was no harm in anticipating the greeting that he would share when she walked through the door. There was no foul in wanting to hear his passionate voice echo through the walls of the café. There was nothing wrong in wanting to watch his strong face, observe his perfectly presented features.

Was there?

She hurried along the streets as the sharp moonlight began to break through the clouds. How comforting the thought was of a warm, friendly place to rest her tired body.

As she squeezed through a narrow alley between two lopsided buildings, she broke into a large, empty street. A cool wind shuddered through her skin, and she reached up to warm her upper arms.

From the corner of her eye, she saw movement. She turned, and was pleasantly surprised to spy a small, unmistakable figure a few yards away. Gavroche.

Was he on his way to the café also?

His small figure spotted her also, and gave a little wave. She moved on her heels, and started towards him.

Another, dangerous sound cracked through her ears like thunder then.

Horses.

She slowed herself, and looked ahead for some indication of where the sound was coming from. However, the darkness made it difficult to see, and it was only until she stepped forward a few paces did she even see several other figures emerging on horseback in the darkness.

One, leading the others, had a distinctly bulky shape of muscle and had a posture that presented power.

She knew almost instantly who it was at that moment, and fear struck her dumb on her feet as she stopped dead in the middle of the road.

Javert.

She wanted to yell, and opened her lips to cry out Gavroche's name, tell him to run before they saw him in their way. She knew Gavroche was stupid and brave enough to not take harsh words from anyone, not even the police. Yet, no sound came out, and she found herself opening and shutting her lips together several times like a stunned animal.

"_Gamin_, get out of our way," she heard an impossibly deep voice echo through the abandoned street. "Clear yourself out of sight."

Watching helplessly, she saw Gavroche's figure jump back, but hover for a moment around the figures.

"Watch where yer' goin'!" he exclaimed, roughly patting down the creases in his already ratted clothing.

"Hold your tongue, boy!" another officer snapped, his voice harshly cutting through the dark. "Unless you want a beating."

No. Gavroche, for God's sake, don't-

"I wouldn't speak to me like that if I was you, _Monsieur_,_" _Gavroche responded. There was no unwavering of confidence in his voice. That was his problem, Eponine had often said. He knew nothing but success and sneaky behaviour. He didn't know how to get into trouble. Terror struck her as he continued. "I've got friends that are plottin' to take you down."

_Gavroche, you beast! You terrible thing!_

Adrenaline and action spurred into her veins then, kicking her feet up and moving her legs before she even knew it. Sprinting across the ground, ignoring the sharp pebbles and debris that cut at her feet, she ran towards them.

"Gavroche!" she cried. She instantly hated how panicked her voice sounded. "Shut up! Shut up!" Racing towards the scene, she was there in a matter of moments, flinging herself between Gavroche and the group of frightening guards. "Ignore him, Monsieurs," she breathed, her voice horrid and pleading. "He doesn't know what he says. He's just a child."

However, it was too late. She watched, paralysed by fear as Javert dismounted his horse and strode slowly closer to them. He towered over her, in build and in position, and she felt like an ant.

"Let him continue," he said in a vicious voice. "It sounds like the boy has something to say."

Eponine cast her eyes behind her, where Gavroche had seemingly realised that his tongue had dug himself a hole once again. His eyes were widened, and his face paling. "I, um-"

"Don't say anything," Eponine hissed. "You keep your mouth shut."

"I have heard amongst my men that there are rumours in the streets," came Javert's voice once more. He stared down at them in furious distain. "Of a revolutionary group. We are not foolish, we are very much aware. They must know that if they try and begin some sort of uprising.." He had to stoop down to address them, his voice dropping low and threatening. "...Then actions will be taken."

Eponine felt Gavroche's small, freezing hand grasp at her wrist.

"Tell me now, and spare yourselves. Where can we find these men?"

Eponine said nothing. If he thought that she would risk the lives of her friends in order to save her own skin, then he was seriously mistaken. Her lips were tight, and her eyes watched up towards his with a wide anxiety.

"You best speak," Javert muttered under his breath.

Breaths came short from her chest. She wanted them to leave Gavroche and her alone, she wanted to run into the darkness and hide. All her life on the streets she had skilfully avoided Javert and his men, only now to be caught.

She was almost grateful when one of his men spoke in a tired, almost bored voice. "They know nothing, _Monsieur,_" he said, waving his hand towards them like they were nothing more than bugs. "Are they worth our time?"

Javert's harsh eyes locked onto hers, never ripping away to give her mercy for even a second. It was only when another voice spoke, that he even twitched.

"I'll stay with them, Javert." Eponine tore her eyes away to glance over his shoulder. Another guard, beside Javert's hose, stood impossibly still, eyeing her from feet away. "Let me find out what they have to say."

Eponine watched him carefully. He was younger in age than the other men, but rough in appearance and wise behind the eyes. Perhaps he was one of those street thieves she had heard about, who had clawed their way into the law's eye with their clever tricks and careful ears. Her father had tried to get his name in that way for years, but with no avail. If this was true about this man, then she realised with a cold heart that she in no way wanted to be left behind with him.

It was clear by this leering eyes and poorly hidden smirk of the lips that he only had one idea.

Javert, still watching her closely, straightened himself suddenly. "Very well," he curtly replied. He moved to return to his horse, mounting in silence. The air could have been cut with a dagger.

She felt behind her, a hand clasping the itchy fabric of Gavroche's jacket tightly. She was ready to push him away if necessary. There was no doubt in her mind that should there be trouble, he would be the one leaving safely. She would ensure it.

The sound of trotting hooves cracked through the air again, and she watched helplessly as the rest of the police made their way from the scene. She flicked her eyes to the man before her, to find that he was fixated on her, with no intention of hiding his wondering eyes.

She felt something strange inside her mind flicker. Like a memory. There was some recognition she had with this man, only she could not remember where she knew his face. Only something in his seemed to make her think that he remembered her well...

After a moment, he stepped forward towards them. His voice was rough like gravel as he spoke. "Now then girlie, tell me what you know." She said nothing in response, unwilling to give him the slightest satisfaction. He wanted her to fear him, so she would not let him know he did.

He sensed her anxiety regardless, and dropped his eyes down to a hidden Gavroche behind her. "Or maybe your little friend has more information." Eponine stiffened, and felt her eyes harden towards him. An instinct inside her boiled and made it's way to the surface, turning her features to stone. Call it protection, or defence, either way, she was not prepared to let this man lay a finger on Gavroche.

Yet, this was unknown to him, and the man leaned down, stretching a large hand with long, bony fingers towards where Gavroche stood. "Am I gonna have to rip it outta' ya?..."

As he moved closer to Gavroche, and suddenly a hot rage ran through Eponine like fire. As he bent down closer to her and reached eye level, she steadied her feet and rammed her head forward, a vicious growl ripping from her lips. Her forehead hit his nose, and she quickly felt a sharp ache develop, but it was a good shot. A mighty crack rippled through the air, followed by a pained cry. He stumbled back, his hand flying towards his nose.

Eponine moved quickly, seeing her chance to get away, but a hand reached out and gripped her bare arm so tightly, she thought the skin would break.

The force pulled her back so she was face-to-face with the guard. He brought his eyes to her, which were now almost black with rage. Dark blood trickled down through his fingers, dripping onto the ground below.

"_Bitch!_" he hissed. "You'll pay for that!"

Then she remembered. She remembered his face, his voice. She remembered his hands shoving Enjolras violently against a wall with harsh words. Her cheek felt hot at the memory of his slap that all but provoked Enjolras to attack him. Her mind suddenly cleared the fact that this man was no good.

Drawing a breath, Eponine spat into his face, and spun around on her heels to face Gavroche. His eyes were wide and fearful.

"Gavroche! Run! Get away!" she yelled at his stunned face. He moved back a little, but for some reason did do anything other than watch her with a dumb-struck look to his face. She felt her brow furrow. With one more almighty breath, she bent down and screamed into his face, "Run!"

That seemed to resonate with him. Action snapped into his body, and without another glance he turned. She watched with a mild sense of relief as he sprinted away into the darkness, ducking between buildings to disappear.

"_Ah!_" she yelped, feeling her arm being tugged back in an unnatural position. She was spun until her body was against his. The smell of tobacco and dirt hit her nostrils, and she looked up to see the man sneering back down at her like a devil.

"No harm," he muttered, a horrible smile creeping onto his mean features. "Perhaps best if the child left..."

Eponine reached up and clawed for his face. He moved back, but not soon enough to avoid her quick hands dragging across his jaw, drawing more rouge blood from his skin.

He hissed angrily, and before she could take pride in her fast defences, a hand reached out and made harsh contact with her cheek. The pain was sharp and sudden.

In the shock, all thought went from her mind. She felt herself being pushed backwards, although she could do nothing but take control of her feet. Then, a hard surface slammed against her back, and she felt her spine grow rigid.

Forceful hands pinned her against a damp, brick wall. Suddenly, a clear thought flashed into her mind.

_Scream. He won't bother if he thinks you're not worth the trouble._

She remembered from being younger, when she would perform more dangerous, less preferable jobs with her father. Mostly seducing men in the back alleys while he and his gang snuck up to knock out whoever wanted to get friendly with her. However, on the occasion that there would be a hold up with their arrival, her father shared with her one golden tip. She was told to scream, to fight, to make it as troublesome as possible for the man in question. If men don't think they can get what they want easily, then they give up interest all together.

For the scum her father was, it couldn't be said that he didn't know what he was talking about.

She steadied her lungs by inhaling a cold gulp of air, and was ready to release a sound.

"H-" A gasp erupted from her breaths. She was suddenly aware of a tight hand around her throat.

"Not so fast, love."

There was a rip. Eponine looked down with wide eyes to see the other hand tearing at her dress, the shoulder now ripped to reveal her pale shoulder and the curve of her breast. She shut her eyes tightly.

There were suddenly warm breaths against her lips, and before she could protest, hot, wet lips were on hers harshly. Her body froze in disgust. This was not love, or even lust. This was violence and hatred.

She suddenly recalled then, a dream she'd had a few nights previous during a sleepless, cold night. She had pictured Enjolras, gentle and loving, with kind hands and sincere lips whispering sweet nothings in her ear. Although she had felt completely scandalised with herself, and remembered waking with pink, bashful cheeks, she also remembered a joy, a secret thrill that had come with visions of them together.

The sheer harshness that was her reality now stung her heart coldly.

She was not afraid of what he planned to do with her. No, his intentions were pitiful, pathetic even. For everything she was, Eponine was not a coward. A worthless man like this was not capable of mustering any type of fear from her.

A tongue invaded her mouth roughly, and Eponine forced herself to not gag as not to anger him further. However, that was lost as soon as another, better idea flashed in her head. As soon as his tongue had momentarily ceased it's horrid exploration of her mouth, she angled her mouth and bit down on his lower lip.

Hard.

Another shocked sound arose from his throat, and he leapt back from her.

He sent his hand sharply across her cheek again, which was now burning like hot coal. "Enough!" a yell of rage ripped from his throat. "You're nowhere near worth the trouble you make."

Eponine thought that was it. Perhaps he would hit her once more and leave in a hurry. But sadly, she was not lucky enough.

A strong hand grabbed the back of her head by the hair, and painfully yanked her down until she was on her knees with a sharp cry. In the moonlight, he looked demonic, like a frightening, impossible being as he glared down at her with blood stained skin.

Her eyes widened as she saw his hand, reaching to his side for his baton. Horror flooded through her as she realised he might actually intend to beat her to death. She had heard such stories before. He raised his arm slowly.

"No! Don't!" she yelled in anger, feeling hot tears sting behind her eyes. She felt her last ounces of courage and pride leave her. Now she was afraid. Not of death, but of the pain.

With one last afterthought of meaningless hope, she opened her lips, took a deep breath, and released the loudest, most fearful scream she could master. Perhaps someone would hear and have the heart to investigate. She wanted Enjolras to hear. Someone, anyone. The scream cracked in the air and echoed past the building tops in a terrifying requiem.

As his arm came down at a harsh speed, she squeezed her eyes shut and felt her limbs stiffen, awaiting the oncoming agony.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

**Thank you so much for all your positive response to the previous chapter. You all think I'm so mean for keeping you waiting, so here you go. I hope you enjoy this, and your reviews are all very much appreciated.**

* * *

Gavroche ran.

His heart was pounding so hard in his little chest he thought he might just pass out. But he knew he couldn't stop for a second. Every moment since he had gone, he knew 'Ponine was getting the back end of something bad.

He hated feeling like a coward. Knowing that he had left his sister, his best friend, and the only person that really cared about him anymore behind was enough to drive him mad at himself. However, knowing that he couldn't have possibly done anything anyways was even worse.

There were downsides to being just a pup, after all.

Yet, he had a brain, and knew exactly where he had to go. He remembered the way to the Cafe where the Les Amis had their meetings. Remembering a discussion he had with Courfeyrac, who had told him to go there should he ever get in real trouble, he knew that they would help. His feet pounded the pavement as he ran.

Storm clouds rolled in overhead, and a cold droplet of rain fell upon his nose. It quickly picked up, until the sound of rainwater tapping the pavements soon echoed from all around him.

As he rounded a corner, he could have cried at the sight of the tall, wonky building of the Cafe. A warm, amber glow lit the windows, and he knew that they were there.

A scream crackled through the air like thunder then, drawing his feet to such a sudden stop that he almost fell flat. His heart stopped in his chest. The scream belonged to Eponine, there was no doubt. Tears pricked the back of his eyes as he heard the impossibly loud pain in her voice.

He could not let himself be stopped. No, he had to keep going. Picking his feet up once more, he continued running.

As he sprinted, he remembered all the other times Eponine had taken a beating so that he wouldn't have to. It had happened far too many times.

Something appeared in front of him before he even had the chance to notice. It sent him flying backwards onto the ground, and he yelped out in surprise. Looking up, an instinct of fear made him recoil, his eyes shutting tightly.

"Gavroche!" a familiar voice exclaimed.

Gavroche opened his eyes as his breaths panted from his chest heavily. Above him, a few of the Amis were towering over him with concerned eyes. Enjolras bent down, grasping his lapels, and gently pulled him from the ground and back onto his feet.

"What was that sound?" he demanded. His hands were shaking as he held the boy. "We heard a scream. Was it Eponine? Gavroche, _where is she_?"

Gavroche felt his lips quiver. The realisation of what had happened hit him harshly and suddenly.

Enjolras' hands tightened around the boy's shoulders. His eyes widened in a panic that the boy had never seen in him before. "Where is she?!"

Someone stepped out from behind the revolutionary leader and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. When Gavroche saw the dark head of Courfeyrac, he felt a surge of comfort rush through him. "Enjolras! He's frightened, look at him!" he insisted fiercely, stepping around him to kneel at Gavroche's side. "You're not doing him any good."

The men fell silent and looked towards the boy expectantly.

Gavroche remembered himself. Of course, he also remembered Eponine, who at that moment, was having unthinkable things being done to her every second that passed. He straightened himself, and searched the pack of students for one particular doctor in training.

"Monsieur Joly! We'll need you to come," he declared, rushing towards Joly and grasping at his jacket sleeve. His lips tightened into a thin line before he forced out the dark truth. "...I think he's gonna kill 'er."

* * *

Hidden in the reclusive shadows of an alley, a young woman huddled with her knees against her chest. Warm blood trickled down her skin.

As she clung to herself in the dark abyss of the night, Eponine wondered if she had finally done it. Found herself enough trouble to bring her miserable life to an end. The sharp, metallic taste of blood stung her tongue and burned her nostrils as she buried her head in her arms. Despite the cold cuts on her skin from the rain, she found sweet relief in the cool air. Everything hurt. Her insides seemed to burn from the blunt contact of the baton used against her, and even breathing seemed more difficult than she remembered.

Hatred consumed her. Not for the police, not for her parents, but for herself. She felt like an ugly, useless thing that needed to be put down. She knew very well that she meant nothing to anyone. Gavroche perhaps was an exception, particularly after tonight, but still, he was a child and knew nothing better. He didn't know to hate her yet.

Though she desperately tried not to, she thought of Enjolras. She wanted to stop herself from thinking of him constantly, to stop herself being stupidly infatuated with the idea of _them_.

Despite herself, part of her wanted to believe he cared. She tried to picture him at the Cafe, wondering where she had been that evening. She imagined him hearing her screams from streets away, and his mindless worry at the sound of her pain. She also saw him running outside, yelling her name, searching for her desperately.

Yet, she knew, no matter how hard she tried to imagine, it was more than likely that he did not care about any more than everyone else did.

Although she could not help it, she knew she was now lost.

No matter how hard she tried, she had done the stupidest thing she could.

She had gone and fell in love with him.

She tried to shift her figure against the wall, but felt pain shoot through her bones. Her lips parted and she released a small whine. The slow, burning agony ran through her blood and tired her mind. She felt her vision falling fuzzy and her eyelids growing heavy. The darkness only meant one thing; if she slept, who was to say she would wake up again? After all, this pain couldn't be possible to fix.

It wouldn't matter anyway.

Who would care if she never woke up?

Despite her body's aching moan, she lolled her head back against the damp brick and shuddered. Letting her eyes slowly close, she wondered if she had a place in Heaven waiting for her when she would awake next.

* * *

_"Eponine."_

Eponine's eyes fluttered open to reveal a blurred, dark world.

A figure was hovering over her, bending down and wrapping strong, warm arms around her numb frame. They placed something upon her quivering body; something warm and soft. She could only make out red in the blurred world through which she saw. Not red of blood, but something much more familiar. Something much more comforting. The only strength she could muster was enough to curl her trembling fingers around the soft fabric that clothed her saviour.

_"It's alright. I've got you."_

The voice she recognised. As her vision adjusted as well as it could, she made out a familiar form.

"...Enjolras," she breathed quietly.

_"I'm here."_

Something tightened around her heart. In the darkness, she could see other figures around them, hovering. Moonlight fell upon them and bathed them in silver. They seemed almost angelic. Perhaps she had made it to the other side. She wasn't quite sure how bad she looked, but she was almost certain that her features creased in question. "Am...am I dead?"

The arms tightened around her then. "No. ...No, you're not."

Eponine wasn't sure whether the news was pleasing or not. Letting her eyes shut once more, she realised that the rain had subdued now to gentle, soft drops that cooled her aching skin. The bitter taste of blood lingered on her lips.

"No, _Mademoiselle_," a different voice cut through the darkness. "You must not sleep. Not yet," it said firmly.

She released a tired groan. "Oh, leave me be..."

"No, you cannot sleep just yet. I have to be sure you haven't sustained a head injury." She recognised the voice now to belong to Monsieur Joly.

"We need to get her out of the cold. Enjolras, would it-"

"We shall take her back to my apartment. You can treat her there," Enjolras replied resolutely.

Eponine's bones stiffened. What would Enjolras' neighbours say if they saw her? What would they think of him for having a _gamine_ sleeping in his home? His reputation would be tarnished. She quickly decided that her health was her own matter, and any tainting of Monsieur's name would not be on her part.

Weakly lifting an arm, she rested a hand against his chest, feeling the firmness underneath the clothing that made her feel so safe.

"No, don't," she breathed. "I'm fine, Monsieur. Just put me down. I can go back to my parents."

Enjolras huffed above her, annoyed. "Nonsense, Eponine. I will not leave you here in your state. Joly will care for you and when you are better you can go back to making your own childish decisions."

Eponine frowned. "I will not spoil your reputation, Monsieur."

"My reputation is my own business. Besides, after we hold our rally, I doubt any of our reputations will still be in tact."

Rally? That was unheard of to Eponine. She twisted her body to question him, but a spark of pain shot through her sides and she crumpled back into a quivering mess of whines and whimpers. She felt Enjolras' warm hands lace through her hair as he softly hushed her quiet cries.

"Let's take her away," another voice interjected. "It'll rain again soon."

This time, when Enjolras snaked his arms around her skinny frame, she welcomed it. Her fingers curled against his shirt and realised that it was his jacket she was now wearing. He began to lift her from the ground, arms cradling under her knees and arms. As she felt her body being pulled from the ground and shifted beyond it's capability, she gasped for air. The pain was sharp and aching, seemingly never-ending. Her skin burned, as if having been torched, and the taste of blood in her mouth now made her stomach twist.

Tears fell freely down her cheeks. Whether it was the pain, the kindness of Enjolras and his friends, or simply the humiliation of having been so weakened, she did not know. Perhaps it was all three that scrambled her emotions.

She tucked her face against Enjolras' chest, and he cradled her tightly against him. "Gavroche-" she murmured.

"He's alright. Courfeyrac took him back to the cafe. We thought it best for him not to see you until you were cleaned up."

"Thank you." Eponine breathed the words wistfully, knowing that no matter how hard she could try and explain, Enjolras would never know how grateful she was. Allowing her eyelids to slip shut once more, she kept herself awake by pinching the skin of her arm every few moments. A minor ache compared to her body's current state.

She heard shuffling of feet around them, and Joly's voice return to say, "Combeferre, go and fetch me my medical kit. Bring it back to Enjolras'."

Combeferre was there? Had she had the strength to open her eyes again, she would have taken a proper look at who else was present. Did they all care enough for her to find her? The thought alone was enough to make her lips quiver and her eyes grow moist with more unshed tears.

By the time they had reached Enjolras' home, Eponine had willed herself fully awake again. She had kept quiet, simply huddled to herself in his arms, gazing upwards with sore eyes. Rain water had drenched his skin, and droplets trickled from his damp curls onto his stony face. Even the harsh elements could not disfigure his handsome features. There was an expression he wore, caught somewhere between portraying nothing at all, and everything at once. His face was set in a stern portrait, as ambiguous as a sculpture, but there was a stiffness in his form. A harsh intensity along his jaw and marking the back of his eyes that made it seem like he was withholding fire.

She did not have the strength to dig any deeper.

As they climbed several staircases up towards where he resided, Eponine silently marvelled at his strong arms as they carried her without so much as a tremble.

"Jehan, get the door."

She saw Jehan pass before them, and heard a door creak open into the silent hallway.

For everything she imagined Enjolras' home to be, she expected something a little more _bourgeois_. Whilst spacious, his apartment was modest, with little furniture. A large bed, a table and chairs, and a dresser with a matching settee appeared to be the most expensive things. There was no real evidence of self-indulgence or fine luxuries. She craned her aching neck around to get a better view, but saw nothing more than tasteful essentials. It was clear that whatever money his father sent him, Enjolras did not keep for his own purposes. Books, however, were in no short supply. Scattered among the floor, piled on tables like miniature towers; books were everywhere.

Burned out candle sticks also occupied the space, from where she guessed he sat and wrote or read during his spare time.

During her observations, Joly had moved to stand beside Enjolras, and the two stared down at her with creased brows and worried expressions.

"Can you stand?" he asked, drawing her from her reverie. "Or sit, perhaps?"

Eponine nodded, slowly. Enjolras moved her carefully towards the bed, and manoeuvred her so she was sitting upright on the plush, soft mattress. A small groan released her lips as she felt her ribs sting against her skin. As a hand gently clasped her wrist, she turned and saw Enjolras sitting beside her, so close that their arms were touching. The gesture seemed to numb some of the anguish she was feeling. His eyes softened as they met hers, a mixture of sympathy and guilt, both of which she did not fully understand.

"Your wet clothes must be removed," Joly said from across the room. He moved about quickly and efficiently, lighting candles to give the space a warm, comforting glow. "Your injuries I can fix, but an illness will be much more trouble. Enjolras, Jehan, if you would please leave as to give her some privacy-"

"No, don't." Eponine let her hand fall to Enjolras', where it tightened in a silent plead. "I would prefer it if you stayed."

It was not that Eponine didn't trust Joly. In fact, she believed that the man would hardly hurt a fly. However, in the pit of her stomach, she knew that she would feel less safe should Enjolras leave her now.

Enjolras seemed to understand this without further prompting. "...Only if you're sure," was his only comment on the matter.

"You all know just as well as I do what is under a woman's clothes. We can be adults."

He replied with an affirming nod, ignoring any and all bashful sentiments. "Very well. Jehan, watch the door, please."

Eponine watched the other student nod his head, and swiftly make his way out of the room. Joly returned to them with a large bowl with water and a washcloth, small tendrils of steam rising from his hands. He placed them on the table and flickered his eyes to Enjolras.

Sensing an uncomfortable air arising, she chose to stand. Lifting herself from the bed was no easy task, and a small hiss escaped her lips as she felt pain wash through her once more, but it was made easier with Enjolras by her side to steady her.

She went about then shakily unknotting her shawl. As she let it fall to the ground, water stained the wooden floorboards where it landed. She felt hands then at her lower back, where Enjolras had began to untie her poor excuse for a skirt where it was secured around her waist.

"You probably won't want to discuss what happened," came Joly's voice at an attempt to fill the silence. As she looked toward him, his eyes were filled with pity. "But it would help if you told me what it was he did to injure you."

"He hit me," Eponine replied. She had no shame in what had happened. With Enjolras by her side, she knew that it was unlikely she would relive the nightmare once more. With him, she felt safe. "Across my cheeks twice. I was pinned by my throat, and I'm sure something is wrong with my arm. He used his baton to beat me when I fought back."

Enjolras' warm breath tickled her ear then. Whilst the sensation was not unpleasant, his voice certainly was. Laced with bitterness and hardened by rage and disbelief, the rough sound of his voice made her want to flinch. "Baton?" he hissed. "This was a police officer?"

"Yes. One of Javert's men."

There was a pause. Joly was the next to speak, quietly -respectfully- asking the unavoidable question. "...Did he rape you, _Mademoiselle_?"

It was possible she imagined it, but she was certain that she heard a hitch in Enjolras' breath. "No. He did try though." Despite herself, she allowed a corner of her lips to perk up in self-satisfaction. "I guess I was more trouble than I was worth." As her skirt fell and pooled around her ankles with a small thump. She went to slip off the ratted chemise that made up her top half.

"Where did he beat you?"

"Everywhere."

As she lifted her arms above her head to remove the last remnants of her clothing, her arm spasmed in pain and she winced. A pair of hands from behind her reached over and silently grasped the damp fabric, and gently pulled it over her head. Cool air hit her skin as she found herself standing naked before the two men.

Her eyes travelled up to Joly's, and found his jaw slackened at the sight of her bruised and broken body. She found herself looking down to examine the damage herself. Scars littered her skin, and dark bruises were already beginning to form in various patches. When she caught sight of her hands, it was then she realised that they were caked with blood. Under her fingernails, she knew she carried something from the man that attacked her. Dirt dusted her body, and she wondered whether his shock was for the injuries, or partly for her street-worn appearance.

She winced at sight of herself, but was not as surprised as the other two. After all, what else had she expected?

Turning her head over her shoulder, the sight of Enjolras did not ease her mind. He had turned his head away, glaring into the floor below. His jaw tightened, and his hands were fisted by his side. He refused to look upon her body any more, it seemed.

She wanted to turn to him, wanted to assure him. She wanted to place her hands on his face and make him look at her.

_I've had worse, _she longed to tell him. _I'm alright._

Yet she knew she couldn't do such a thing. Instead, she chose to turn back to Joly and quietly attempt a reasoning.

"Don't think too much of it, Monsieurs. Some of these are old ones, after all."

That didn't seem to rest their minds any easier. His skin pale and his eyes firm, Joly looked over her shoulder towards Enjolras. Something seemed to resonate between the two, prompting Joly to offer him the perfect excuse to leave them.

"Do you have something clean she can wear?"

Enjolras nodded, and moved from behind Eponine and strided towards the bathroom. She watched his retreating back, tense and unwavering, until he moved into the adjacent room and shut the door behind him. As her legs grew tired, she allowed herself to slump down onto the side of the bed.

She tried to keep her lips still as she let Joly sit beside her. As soon as her shoulders began to shake with coldness, she felt Joly pull a sheet from the mattress and place it around her thin frame. For the next few moments, as Joly gently moped at her skin with warm water, she stared into the distance, keeping her eyes on a blank spot of dark green wallpaper. She relished in the feel of the warm water against her skin as it cleaned her wounds, soothed her aching bones. Although it could not quite so easily cure her aching heart. After a few minutes passed in peaceful silence, her timid voice drifted between them.

"Am I hideous?" she asked.

Joly paused in his work, but resumed in a professional manner promptly. "Of course not," he replied, his voice firm.

Eponine turned her head, and caught the young doctor's eyes in hers, which were moist with tears. "Then why won't he look at me?" Her voice cracked into a whisper at the words.

In return, the student's head tilted and he furrowed his brow at her behaviour. "I believe he is upset," he said softly. At sight of her troubled features, he reached over and gently touched her shoulder in assurance. "Don't look so troubled, Eponine. Once we've cleaned you, you'll look as good as new." He sent her a small smile, and honestly, it was enough to make her feel slightly less worrisome.

As he resumed his careful care of her broken body, she watched the bathroom door. Wondering what Enjolras was doing just the other side, she quietly murmured into the air, "Hopefully a little better."


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

**Thanks, as always, for all the responses given for the last chapter. I'm glad you enjoyed it, and I hope you enjoy this update as well.**

**(Just a little warning to say that I shouldn't expect the next update to be posted for a little more than a week from now since I have exams and essays to be done, but I will be on it whenever I have time to spare, and it will be updated, I promise. Thank you!)**

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Enjolras' knuckles whitened as he gripped the sides of his hand basin.

Never before had he found himself trapped in a whirlwind of so many emotions at once. There was a showcase of turmoil inside his head, and with the overwhelming magnitude of it all, he found it difficult to do anything other than simply stand there and watch himself in the mirror.

Grief, confusion, pity, and guilt all flickered inside him at one point or another.

Yet, rage was the harsh constant.

In his reflection, he saw no man staring back at him. He saw something much more fierce.

Rage had turned his normally cool blue eyes into ice, sharp and stinging wherever they looked. The muscles in his jaw jumped and tensed until they ached. His hands, until now, had previously hung by his legs in tight fists, threatening to unleash and destroy whatever might get in his path.

Rage, anger, or fury; Enjolras was completely out of his own control.

He had known that Eponine's disappearance would bring nothing good. Yet, what could he have done to prevent her from going? Nothing at all. He knew just as well as anyone else that he would not have been able to reason with her stubborn nature.

A shiver ran down his spine sharply as he recalled hearing the sound of her desperate scream.

They had been celebrating, he and the Les Amis, drinking and toasting to their success of the day. A promising amount of awareness had been generated. For the first time in quite a while, there had been hope for them.

However, he remembered specifically being in the middle of a conversation with Combeferre, discussing their plans for the next day, when they had heard it. The blood-curdling, heart-stopping scream that echoed nothing but pain and fear. Enjolras remembered growing cold, almost dropping the glass in his hand at the sound. He had known it belonged to Eponine long before he reached the top of the stairs.

Seeing Gavroche, small and afraid, did nothing but fuel his fear.

When they stumbled upon her curled up, trembling body caked with blood and wet with rain, he wanted nothing more than to go her side. He had wanted to pick her up, run, and hide her from all the shadows and darkness in the world. She did not deserve whatever it was she had received, and knowing now that it was one of Javert's men that had so brutally attacked her spurred his rage into burning adrenaline that frightened even him.

He looked towards the bathroom door. Willing himself to return to her clearly shaken mind, he knew he could not bear to look upon her broken body anymore. Seeing her standing there, exposed, with bruised and bleeding skin, roughened by time and poverty made a poisonous guilt grow inside him. In his mind, he wondered whether Eponine was actually aware of the damage she had been inflicted. She shook the wounds off like they were no more than mere splinters. He knew she had not seen her face yet, missing the split lip and red cheeks. Her throat had been deeply bruised. Perhaps she did not want to see the depth of her damage.

Perhaps it went far deeper than simply her skin.

Enjolras felt his shoulders fall as a heavy sigh escaped his parted lips. His head lolled forward, and leaned upon the mirror.

Guilt consumed him for reasons he did not understand. Guilt that she felt so compelled to come to the café for them. For him. So much so that she felt she had to walk the streets alone at night and come across Javert's men. Perhaps if he had been with her, he could have stopped it. He silently corrected himself; he _would_ have stopped it. Without a moment's second thought.

The man who had dared harm her had no place in the world, was his bitter thought. Whoever thought to even lay a hurtful hand on her clearly had no heart or a single intelligent cell in his pathetic brain.

A deep, protective instinct that he didn't know existed spurred him on. The worst part was knowing it was most likely not the first time this had happened to her. The streets were a harsh, frightening place where people did anything in order to survive another day. Eponine had probably encountered this type of violence before in her life.

It was then that something inside him opened, allowing guilt to flood through. He remembered that she was there now, on the other side of the door, afraid and shaken. She wanted him there, and all he could do was sit and boil in his own anger, which amounted to nothing with purpose.

She needed him. More importantly, she wanted him.

Inhaling a shaky breath, he reached and ran a hand through his tangled curls. He then turned and received a nightshirt of his from his drawers, and held it carefully in his hands as he moved toward the door. After a moments pause, he turned the handle and went back into the main room.

Joly had sat her down on the bed, where she huddled her nude body in a bed sheet and sat quietly whilst he cleaned her.

Enjolras felt his heart tug at the sight of her smallness.

She looked up at him, and offered a weak, sad smile that made him feel even more terrible. He felt his lips twitch in return. Moving to her, he placed the clothing beside her and nodded at Joly, who continued his work with pure concentration.

"I will make you something to eat," he finally managed to speak in a quiet, yet stern tone. Eponine's dark eyes watched him carefully from below. "Once you've had something to eat and drink, you should sleep. You will sleep in the bed and I will take the settee, and I will hear nothing else on the matter. Do you understand?"

Eponine's lips parted. Opening and closing several times, like a fish out of water, until she fell quiet. She resided with a quick nod of the head.

"Good. Tomorrow, you are to stay in bed. I will stay with you. Joly will inform us when he thinks you fit enough to start going outside."

The young _gamine_ looked up at him, her brow furrowed deeply. Her eyes shone with unspoken protest, but she dared not say anything to disagree. At the sight of displeasure of being told what to do, Enjolras could not help but let a corner of his lips upturn in a satisfied smirk. He thought then that he would rather enjoy having her all to himself for the next few days.

There was a knock at the door. Enjolras tore his glance away from Eponine's to answer. On the other side, Jehan stood with an out-of-breath Combeferre, clutching Joly's medial kit in his arms.

"I'm here," he said with heavy breaths.

Enjolras stood aside, and nodded, allowing them both to enter.

The two students scrambled inside the room. Joly jumped up from the bed and took his case from Combeferre.

"Perfect. Now I can dress the wounds."

"Courfeyrac, Grantaire and the others are with Gavroche at the café still," Combeferre spoke to Eponine. Enjolras did not miss the way his cheeks flushed slightly at the sight of her poorly covered body on the bed. However, he chose to continue with some pride. "I believe they are treating him to some wine."

"Is he alright?" Eponine replied. Her fingers tightened around the sheet. "He's not too shaken, is he?"

"Not anymore."

A smile ghosted her lips. "...Thank you." Joly returned to her side with clean wrappings. Enjolras watched for a moment as he began to dress the open gashes on her arms, but turned as he remembered his task.

"Jehan, Combeferre, you have done enough for now," he declared, watching his two friends observe the scene with a slight air of discomfort. It was not everyday after all, that they bore witness to such unpleasant things. "You should go and retire for the evening. Thank you."

Jehan was the first to respond. "You know where to find us," he said, before turning to Eponine and tipping his hat. "_Mademoiselle_."

"Goodnight," Combeferre added. They both followed each other out the door, shutting it quietly behind them.

Enjolras found he could breath easy. It was not to say that he didn't enjoy the company of the other Les Amis members, however, he felt his home was one of the few places in the world he could truly be himself. He felt a comforting sense of isolation. With so many people there at once, he'd begun to feel trapped.

However, now there was air to breath. He moved towards his small kitchenette and began to search through the cupboards for something that would suit well for Eponine. Finding some bread he'd purchased a day previous and some fresh cheese, he began to lay them out on a plate. Once he had become satisfied with his work, he turned.

By now, Joly had almost finished wrapping her wounds. He had also tightened some bandages around her arm, most likely where she claimed to have injured it in the struggle. The blood on her face had been cleaned, and she had begun to look normal once more.

"That should do it for now," Joly said, snipping at one of the wrappings. "I suggest some sleep would do you well. I can return late morning tomorrow to check up on you."

"Thank you, _Monsieur,_" Eponine breathed, almost a whisper. Enjolras could see her eyes were falling, and the redness in them was returning.

"Thank you, Joly."

Enjolras handed Eponine the plate of food before following Joly to the door. He opened it, and the two stood in the doorframe for a few moments.

"Don't press her, Enjolras," Joly warned with knowing eyes. "Let her explain what happened in her own time."

Enjolras felt his brow furrow, disliking the feeling of being chided. "I'm no fool, Joly." He stepped aside. "I will see you tomorrow."

"Yes...well, goodnight."

With a short nod and a quick wave to his patient, Joly left the door and made his way down the stairs. Enjolras remained in his spot until he could no longer hear the sound of the young doctor's footsteps jogging down the steps.

He shut the door and turned back. Eponine was nibbling at the food, her eyes flickering around the space of his home.

When he saw he placing the soon empty plate down by her side, and move to stand, he was quickly brought back to their reality, and moved towards her.

"What is it?" he asked, reaching out his hands to steady her. As he moved beside her, they found themselves awkwardly on her elbows.

Her eyes flickered to his hands. "I want to change. I'm not sure I feel comfortable being so stark naked anymore."

Feeling an increasing flow of blood to his cheeks, Enjolras nodded, before clearing his throat. He reached down and grabbed his nightshirt. When he looked back to her, she was quietly pulling the sheet away from her body. He knew she was watching, awaiting his reaction. There was nothing, however, to make him feel ashamed. He did not once look down at her nakedness, knowing very well what he would see; bruises and scars and everything else that would possibly re-ignite his anger.

As she raised her arms above her head to assist him, he saw her teeth worry her lower lip and her breath hitch in the midst of pain. He finished quickly, slipping the shirt over her head and carefully looping her arms through. Once finished, he found himself having to withhold a small chuckle at the sight of her small body, drowning in his clothing.

He bent down, pulling back the sheets of the bed. "In," he softly instructed.

Eponine abided with no protest, slipping onto the mattress with a small wince. He leaned over to tuck the sheets around her.

She glanced up at him with wide eyes. "Enjolras," she whispered, gathering his attention. "I wasn't always like this, you know. I haven't always..." As she slowed her words, her hands entwined and her fingers fiddled together. "I spent my childhood being cruel to others. I was a spoilt, selfish brat. Now it's coming back to me, and I've accepted that a long time ago."

He raised a brow in questioning return. "You don't have to justify yourself to me, Eponine. I know who you are and who you're not."

She nodded slowly, carefully considering her words. "I just want you to know that I'm not pitying myself. ...I'm getting what I deserve."

Despite himself, Enjolras leaned closer towards her and grabbed her hand in his. "You don't deserve any of this. I won't have you say things like that." The two grew silent for a few moments, gazing into the other's eyes in quiet configuration. It was he who first spoke. "Are you comfortable?"

"...Yes."

He straightened himself, releasing her hand and standing above her. He offered a small smile that barely cracked his cheeks. "Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

"You won't leave?"

"I promise."

She smiled into the sheets in return. He turned to move away, stepping towards the window where he stood solemnly. His arms were folded tight against his chest as he gazed down into the darkened streets below.

It was a few minutes later, long after he had expected her to be deep in slumber, that a small, hesitant voice echoed from the other side of the room. "Enjolras?"

He did not tear his eyes away from the streets below as he mumbled, "Hmm?"

"...Have you read all those books?"

"Most of them, yes."

A few seconds of silence passed before the voice appeared again.

"...What are they about?"

Enjolras sighed, reaching a hand up and pressing his palm against his marble face. He had not suspected that she be rather difficult to settle. "Eponine," he muttered aloud. "Go to sleep."

"I can't," came a quiet protest, sounding more like a child than anything else. "What are you looking at?"

Enjolras felt his lips twitch as he was unable to answer. He could not tell her, of course, that he was looking at the occasional passer-by, wondering if he was the very soul that had threatened her life. He could not say that he was wondering what exactly had happened, picturing the worst possible scenarios in his imagination; the curse of the realistic cynic.

"Nothing," was his chosen reply. Eponine did not continue to press questions.

Her confessions troubled him deeply. For all the hatred she had against herself, he was sure he understood. Many times in his life, he had felt guilt and rage at his own name for having more than others. For not being able to make something good of himself, and not just for his family. He had felt disappointment and doubt at his own abilities to lead a group of students, who had once seen something great in him.

He wanted her to know, just how much she had changed that. For everything she had shown him, he had felt himself growing stronger, more impassioned. Now, it was his due to return the favour. He needed her to know, how much her friendship meant to him. He wanted fiercely to tell her how much it pained him to think of the idea of losing her, for reasons that even he could not comprehend.

She had worth in the world, and he wondered how on earth it was that she could not see it.

He swallowed briefly before speaking. His voice cracked through the silence as loud as thunder, with no more tremor than that of a whisper. "Eponine...I..." As he turned to her, he fell silent.

In the warm glow of candlelight, he saw her slack form and sleeping face.

The troubles of the day could clearly not withhold her from rest much longer.

Hesitantly, Enjolras moved from the window. Steering himself curiously towards the bed, he stopped just a few feet away to watch her silent figure.

With her skin cleaned of blood and dirt, he saw her features clearly for the first time. There was beauty in her face, he could not deny. Beauty that had been clouded and masked from years of poverty and sadness. Her skin was darkened by sunlight, but looked soft to touch. Her lips were full, just as lovely in sleep as they were in smile. Shut, her eyes were peaceful, and Enjolras thought of the dark orbs beneath. They shimmered with her youth, but had a depth dug by time and her harsh world.

She could have glowed with Grace, but had been dimmed by Life.

He wondered what would have been made of her world if she had not ended up on the streets. Perhaps she would have found a good life, maintained her radiance and found a husband who treated her well. She was young, but he knew of girls younger than her who had bore children already.

As pleasant as those thoughts were for poor Eponine, something settled funny within him at the image of her living happily with some stranger. Bearing another man's children. Living a life in which he would not exist. It was selfish, yes, but Enjolras knew quite plainly that these feelings were brought on by a childish cause of jealousy.

Marius' words from earlier that day rang in his mind like a chorus.

_I do believe you poor little fools are afraid of love!_

A strange sensation ran up his spine at the word. Love.

Never before had he taken much consideration to the possibility. Such things vexed him greatly. His great passions in life had resulted from a love, yes, but it was a love of _Patria_ and _Liberté_. He'd never held much thought for a life with a woman. But perhaps, in all it's confusion, this is what he was feeling for the woman that lay in his bed.

Enjolras felt his lips twist in deep consideration. If this was love, then he wasn't sure he quite understood it. Or enjoyed it.

Was love supposed to hurt like this? Supposed to make the thought of harm coming to your supposed other sting in your heart? If it was, then why of all people, would it come to him for Eponine? It would be a cruel twist of fate, to make two people from such different worlds want each other. If they could ever find a way to be together, not one person would look upon Eponine without a mean eye. They would think she was in his company purely to better her life with his modest wealth.

A frown crossed his handsome face. It was not worth them caring about the mindless thoughts of others.

A sudden realisation struck him, freezing his bones. Why was he becoming so infatuated with this idea? After all, it was only a thought. It was not as if he really loved her.

Was it?

Below, Eponine shifted in her slumber and dragged the sheets up around her neck. Despite himself, Enjolras felt a thin smile ghost his lips.

In that moment, against his better nature, he had one, clear instinct. Ignoring everything that had been bred into him, all his priorities and goals, he slowly leaned down until he was a breath away from her peaceful face.

"Sleep well, 'Ponine," came the whisper of his voice. Then, with no second thoughts, he moved forward, and pressed his lips above the _gamine's_ brow. He held them there for a few beats, seeming more like passing days to him, before he pulled back.

_Friend of stone, indeed._

For now, she was safe, and under his care. Regardless of what he thought of her, that was his current calling - to watch her and nurse her to health. Such thoughts of love and other meaningless things could wait.

It was then that a fatigue hit him deep in the bones. He realised how heavy his limbs suddenly felt with tiredness. Turning his back to Eponine, he made his way toward the window, and began unbuttoning his vest.

How strange it was, he thought, that just a week ago he had been concerned with nothing but the revolution, and in great despair about the Les Amis' uninspired manner. Life had been simple, straightforward. There was him, the Amis, and the government. Now there was him, the Amis, the people of France, and Eponine.

Now there was fire, and feeling, and possibilities of love.

He placed his now folded vest down on the table, and went to unlace his boots. The bells of the Notre Dame struck twelve far across Paris, singing over the rooftops, bringing a new day. The idea tickled an excitement in the young revolutionary. They were one day closer to their rally, one day more until the city would know of their plans.

Moving towards the table, he blew out the remaining candle, and darkness consumed the walls around him. The soft breaths of Eponine rang on the air, a comforting sound. He slipped onto the settee, pulling a blanket from the side and settling into the black space in comfort.

The confusing ideas had tired his mind and body, and the turmoil slowed his heart at last.

He could rest easy, knowing that at that moment, his most precious possession and needed companion was for once, sleeping beside him.

No nightmares plagued him that night.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

**Wow, we've reached 100 reviews! Thank you very much to all who've read and reviewed this story. It really means a lot - I don't really have a very interesting life at the moment, so writing this is such a fun thing for me to do, and I really really appreciate all of you who take the time to read it. As thanks, here is an especially long chapter. I hope you enjoy.**

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_Day 5_

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When Enjolras awoke the next morning, he wondered whether the previous day actually happened. Whether or not Eponine was truly lying in his bed, tucked into his sheets, wearing his clothes...

His blue eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the harsh morning light that streaked in through the dusted window. His shoulders were aching from an uncomfortable night's sleep on the settee, but he forced himself to sit up. Twisting and craning his neck, he released a quiet groan in discomfort. At least he knew that Combeferre could take over the formation of the Les Amis meeting today. For once, he would have to do nothing but sit in his home, with a very preferable company, and enjoy an unusually relaxing day.

He turned his head over his shoulder, almost half expecting to see nothing there; for what are the odds something that strange would have actually occurred? However, the sight he saw was plain as day. Eponine's frail form smothered by sheets, revealing nothing but the top of her head. The image tugged at his lips, and Enjolras managed to rise from his make-shift bed and onto his feet.

For the next hour or so, Enjolras moved slowly, washing his face and changing his clothes. He laid out a plate for Eponine, garnished with fruit and bread, choosing himself to nibble slowly on a slice of bread and soft cheese. Rarely did he dedicate his mornings to such self-indulgence, as normally he was off early to conference with the Amis, or to journey to the _bibliothèque_ for further reading.

Once he had eaten, he sat himself down at the table and took out some paper and ink. Knowing that he needed to note his speech for the rally the oncoming day, he decided that it would be the ideal time to transfer his wondering thoughts into tangible words. He knew what he had intended to say - the words were floating around constantly in his head like a prayer, with all the power of a hymn. It was simply a manner of being able to signify these thoughts to the people that would gather for them.

He worked for a considerable amount of time, occasionally glancing an eye over to the bed, watching as Eponine would shift over, or sigh heavily. He tried greatly to ignore the fact that the sight of her in his bed brought on a warming feeling in his heart. One that he had not felt before. He tried even harder to push thoughts away of a situation in which this was a constant. A world in which they were like this everyday.

He shook those thoughts from his head with words of equality and government - demanding himself to turn his eyes back down to the papers below.

It was not long after the clocks of the Notre Dame struck eight that he had become so infatuated with his task, that he scarcely noticed the voice that quietly echoed through the air.

"You do look funny, _Monsieur_."

Instinctively, his head snapped up towards the bed. Eponine, who had now woken up, was sitting upright against the pillows. She wore a gentle smile on her face, creasing the dimples in her cheeks. Sleep had mussed her hair, and rumbled her borrowed clothing. Yet, it did nothing to make Enjolras think she looked any less lovely. In fact, the sight of it stirred a strange sensation in the back of his chest.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, for the past ten minutes, you've been looking at your paper like this-" She furrowed her brow and stuck out her tongue, and Enjolras could do nothing but blink at her impression.

"Oh, well..." Despite himself, he felt a rush of blood to his cheeks, and he cleared his throat to pass his sheepish instinct. "I do suppose I have a strange look of concentration. How are you feeling?"

Eponine's small faltered slightly, but forced herself to crack her cheeks. "A little sore. But sleeping felt good, I think. Thank you."

As she tried to straighten her torso on the pillows, Enjolras quickly moved and brought her the small plate he'd made. "I've arranged you some breakfast. I apologise, it's not a great deal. I don't normally worry about stocking for anyone other than myself."

"It's perfect, _Monsieur_." She grinned at him when he placed the plate down on her lap and sat down on the edge of the mattress. He placed himself by her feet, the farthest away from her he could get without actually having to stand up. He had worried himself that such close proximity might cause thoughtless behaviour, such as the need to touch her unnecessarily.

"Eponine, please, you must stop calling me _Monsieur,_" he said, his voice occupying a slight pleading tone. "We are friends, and there's no need for such formalities."

The _gamine_ blinked, an apple poised in her hand. Her head tilted slightly, as if she were suddenly as confused as a child. "You know I will always see you above me," she said, her voice betraying her questioning response. It was almost like she were explaining to him the most obvious fact. It made his heart tighten. "I'm not good enough to be in your company."

On some long preserved self-loathing instinct, he let his head fall, shaking it slowly as he released a heavy exhale. "I'd rather you didn't say such things. I don't want to be seen as your superior, Eponine. I want us to be equals." He lifted his eyes and caught her dark ones, which were fixated on him in marvel. "From this point onwards, if you call me _Monsieur,_ or Sir, or any other formal address, I will not answer."

True to her nature, Eponine's eyes narrowed, ready to challenge his orders. She took a bite of the fruit, pausing mid-chew to mumble with a full mouth, "Would you prefer to answer to _Mademoiselle_?"

He shot her a cold look at her attempt to poke his nerves. She held her ground, hardening her gaze. "Enjolras is my name. It is what everyone else calls me, and that is what you shall call me."

For a few moments, the two watched each other. Neither spoke, awaiting the other to break first. At long last, it was Eponine who let her features soften, finally finding the challenge to grow tiresome. "Alright then," she sighed. She stretched her hands in front of her, her eyes scrunching at the ache. "So, _Enjolras_. What's all this about a rally? Tell me what I have missed."

Enjolras placed his pen down on the table, and swivelled in his chair to face her. He rested his weight against the back of the chair, leaning back to watch her. He began to recall the events of the day previous. He chose to ignore the conversation with Marius in which she heavily featured. She listened animatedly, her eyes widening and releasing small, amazed breaths which he tried not to let himself become immersed in. He finished, quickly cutting the ending long before hearing her scream from streets away. When he'd finished, she was almost practically on the edge of the bed, the sheets curled around her fingers and a wide smile breaking her cheeks.

"I think that's wonderful!" she exclaimed. "You and the Amis must be very excited."

"Yes, we are. Nervous amongst that."

"Don't be."

Enjolras grasped her faith in him and held it tight in his mind. She expected much from him and the group. He only prayed that he would not let her down.

He smiled down, with a warmth that he realised he only shared with her. "Perhaps when this is all over, you might get a chance to get that boat you were talking about."

Brown eyes glistened below him. Sitting herself up further, she leaned towards him. He did not will himself to move away. Her lips parted, breathing soft breaths of disbelief. When she spoke, it was with a quiet voice that sounded akin to a whisper. "...You remember what I said?"

"Of course. I remember most things you say. ...Besides, it was the night I realised you were rather strange."

Eponine watched him carefully. After a while, she scoffed heavily, as if she could not believe a word he was saying. "If things work out to plan, you'll be too busy running France to have time for me anymore."

"Don't be ridiculous," Enjolras sharply replied. "I will always have time for you, Eponine. How could anyone not?"

A stunned silence followed. Fixated on his face, Eponine's eyes narrowed. Her head tilted to the side, curiously. Enjolras felt surprisingly uncomfortable under her scrutiny. With others, he could not have cared less should they look at him funny. Something about Eponine's thoughtful stares, however, seemed to pierce through his bones like arrows. Moments passed like hours until she finally broke the silence.

"...Have you ever been with a woman, Enjolras?"

Shock ran up his spine sharply. It was then that he yanked away - ignoring her look of confusion - and furrowed his brow heavily. Never before had he been asked such a thing, hence the fact that he really had no answer stored away in his normally prepared mind.

"I- I beg your pardon?" he stuttered, feeling his cheeks heat up with blood.

Eponine barely faltered, simply maintaining her hard stare and replying in a strong voice, "You heard the question."

"That's...I...um-" Enjolras felt his jaw slack as he stumbled out a stunned exhale.

What a vexing thing so early in the morning. It was no shame to him that he had never been intimate with a woman - he had always found himself preoccupied with higher priorities. He left the womanising and courting up to his friends. It was more his job to sit and be forced to listen to their various adventures with the opposite sex than to actually partake.

But of course, he was not sure he would feel quite as comfortable discussing this with Eponine. Something told him that she was most likely more experienced than he was in that sense, anyway.

Feeling such cluelessness caused an ache in his temples and a stirring in his stomach that was most unpleasant. Seeing Eponine's expectant stare, however, irritated him even further. "That's hardly an appropriate question, Eponine. Not to mention highly invasive."

She had the decency to drop her eyes, fiddling at the sheets with her nails. "I'm sorry."

"Yes, well I should think so," he scowled. "What on earth would provoke you to ask such a thing?"

"It's just...sometimes you say rather lovely things. I just wonder if perhaps you'd ever said them for someone before."

Enjolras blinked. Her pink cheeks and wide eyes brought up a guilt inside him for reacting so harshly. It was often that he forgot where she was from. She had no real idea of conventional manners and proper behaviour towards men. His features softened at her, and he felt his stiffened form relax.

"Might I ask you something?" he decided to say, choosing to move on from their uncomfortable subject matter.

"Anything."

"I understand it might be difficult for you to recall. However, I'm afraid I cannot stand being in the dark any longer." His mask of indifference returned, veiling his features like stone. "What happened last night?"

A darkness flashed in her eyes at the memory. He suspected that she would not want to speak about it, yet he found he could not handle the ambiguity of the night anymore. It was a surprise to him when she began to speak.

"I'd finished the job early. Thought I might be able to come to the cafe and see you. I saw Gavroche across the street, and I was about to collect him, but Javert and his men showed up. Gavroche got mouthy as always, and I tried to get them to leave him alone. One of Javert's men stayed behind to deal with us." Her eyes darted around him -meeting anywhere but his eyes- and finally fell on her entwined fingers. "I defended myself, and told Gavroche to run. I tried to get away, but he was stronger than me. He slapped me twice around the face. Tried to force himself upon me."

The familiar white rage began to pulse through his blood once more. Eponine caught it, and gave him a small, sheepish smile with one corner of her lips.

"I got him good. He didn't like it though, since he let his baton do the rest of the work. He went at me for quite a while with it until he grew bored. I found it too difficult to get up and try to get to you, so I crawled into the nearest alley and waited for something to happen."

"For us to find you?"

"Or something else," she sighed heavily. He was no fool, and quickly caught on to the referral to Death. An exhale passed his lips gravely. It was all part of her self-hatred which he could not understand.

"He knew me from before. The officer," she continued. There was a hesitance in her voice, a careful nature of her words. "He was the one that caught us out when you were begging for money."

At first, Enjolras had no clue as to whom she was referring. He had seen many a police officer during his time, even more so during the past few days. It was the wide look in her eyes, however, a type of hidden fear which she was attempting to mask, that caused him to remember.

"Him?" he hissed. The anger took hold of him, and he jumped from his seat and began striding towards the door. Where he was going, he did not know, but he had a feeling that given the chance, he would have taken to the streets in search of the villain. "That worthless, idiotic piece of-"

As he brushed past, a quick hand flew out and grabbed his wrist, yanking him close. "Don't do anything stupid, please!" she pleaded, tugging on his arm, silently begging him to sit back down.

Yet his instinctive anger already controlled his body far beyond his mind could at that point. "Eponine, I will not sit idly by while he is free to walk the streets to-"

"Don't endanger yourself for my sake. I scarred him just as he did me. He's not worth your anger," she pleaded. She tugged on his arm to draw his icy eyes to hers. "You are not a violent man."

"Perhaps it would be better if I were," he muttered.

"No." Her fingers slowly slipped from her grasp as she grew to trust him. "I'd rather you my saviour than my protector."

A deafening silence fell between them. He wanted nothing more than to tell her he would gladly play the part of both. There was no reason for her to feel as if she were alone in her turmoils.

Yet, he could not disagree with her pleads. It was against his nature to go against a friend's words. After a moment of silent deliberation, he at last made a compromise. "I won't look for him," he mumbled. It was childish perhaps, but there was some biological need as a man for him to go out and find the guilty attacker right that moment. However, he swallowed his instincts and continued, "But if our paths cross, I will not stand by. He will pay for his misdeeds."

Eponine's arms folded together, and she quirked a brow. It did not seem to satisfy her fully, but the only argument she made back was, "I can't stop you?"

"No." His voice was resolute. It gave her reason to wrench her eyes away from his and plant them firmly towards the ground. She was stubborn, but he was just as determined.

Another question battered his mind, and slipped from his lips before he could stop it. "What were you doing for your father?"

Eponine's eyes snapped up to his. "None of your business."

"It is my business if you are to nurse yourself in my home each time you require." His words were spoken coldly, and his internal self grew angered at his own behaviour. Yet he found he could not stop. "One would think friends share their troubles."

"It is not trouble. I can handle myself when it comes to my father's work. I have done for years."

"You simply cannot stop getting into the company of bad men," was his bitter reply.

"My father is not a bad man!" she snapped, her voice crackling between them like thunder. She was defensive, and surprisingly so. "He might be a criminal, and a drinker, but not once has he ever given me anything I didn't deserve!"

Enjolras forced a dry laugh. It stung the air between them. He knew that she had been bred to take what life threw at her, and to do it with an obeying nature. Whoever had began treating her with violence had obviously convinced her that it was justified.

"Is that what he tells you?" he spat.

Eponine's features creased into a deeper frown. "That's what I know," she retorted. "He has never gone further than to slap me around a little for good measure."

Her words sparked a rage inside his heart. The idea that anyone would lay a rough hand on her, or any other innocent being for that matter, disgusted him.

"Eponine, I do not know what you have been taught, but I know what I have." She rolled her eyes at his words, but he maintained his harsh stare. There was temptation on his part to grasp her chin and force her attention back on him, for the words he was about speak meant a great deal in his mind. "It is never acceptable for a man to lay his hands on a woman in a rough manner. _Ever_." The words were spoken coldly, in a manner that he never intended to be aimed at her. However, he knew she needed to know, needed to remember that there was never a reason for her pain.

The words did not have as profound an effect as he had hoped. She simply met his stare with stony retaliation, and replied in a truthful mutter, "Well, we've led different lives."

Enjolras resisted the urge to roll his eyes. How stubborn she could be. Even a man with such a commanding presence as he had trouble maintaining her attention.

A knock sounded on the door. Enjolras rose from his chair and went to answer, guessing that Joly would have returned to check up on his patient.

However, on the other side, it was not a bright young medical student who stood.

It was a bright, slightly dishevelled looking young boy.

Enjolras blinked. "Gavroche?" In his concerns with Eponine, he had almost forgot that Gavroche had been running about in the supervision of the other Les Amis. It was a relief to see that the boy had not been harmed, and had sustained no injuries unlike his unfortunate sister.

Gavroche beamed back at him. Like every other child of the world, he seemed to have forgotten his perils of the night previous, and seemed to retain the sense that light burst from every heartbeat inside him. "Mornin' _Monsieur_. I hope it's alright for me to be here."

"Of course, come in."

When the boy stepped in, Enjolras saw Eponine's form immediately stiffen. She sat up, her eyes falling on Gavroche in a busy mixture of relief and question.

"Gavroche," she breathed. She motioned him towards her, and placed a firm hand on his shoulder once he had reached her.

The stiff air that previously hung in the room had disappeared.

Enjolras remained hovering at the door, leaving the two to speak in privacy.

However, despite his moral ground, he could not help and listen into the conversation the two siblings exchanged.

As a child, his purpose was to be seen and not heard. With this grew great skills of stealth and observation. He often saw what others did not, and had the ability to listen in to conversations taking place on the other side of rooms without people ever suspecting he did nothing more than sit and scowl.

And, as everyone knows, developing talents like these as a child often puts life into harsh perspective rather quickly.

However, Eponine and the young uchin had also grown into a life in which skills like these were necessary. Enjolras found that he had to strain his ears in order to listen to what they exchanged. He still however, only managed to catch odd words here and there, such as 'Javert', 'Cafe', and 'Safe'. Gavroche nodded in the right places, and Eponine watched him carefully. Whatever it was the two were speaking of, it all seemed rather serious.

Once they had finished their exchange, Gavroche moved away and stood under Enjolras, reaching into his jacket.

"Oh, I almost forgot the reason I came." He pulled out a crisp, white envelope, holding it at the edges in order not to dirty the pure material. "'Ere you are. A letter direct from Lamarque's man."

That caught Enjolras out. In all the business with Eponine's attack, he had all but forgotten his previous task of contacting Lamarque. He had not expected a reply this quickly. This either meant intense support, or hasty dismissal. His voice only escaped in a breathless, "...What?"

"Yeah, caught 'im on the street. I said I was your follower an' all. Took a bit of convincin', but he trusted me in the end once I showed 'im this-" The boy turned the lapel of his jacket. It revealed a pin, just as Enjolras and every other Ami wore; ruffles of blood red and sky blue. It was hard to miss the look of pride beaming on Gavroche's cheeks as he showed it off.

The sight was enough to ignite Enjolras' soul with the same fire that carried his own ideals. In his dreams, he had before seen every citizen wearing the same declarative pin. Perhaps this was the start of such a reality.

Enjolras reached out, grasping the letter gently from the _gamin. _As he did so, he nodded his head and presented a gracious smile. "Thank you, Gavroche. You've done well."

Gavroche shrugged. "Anytime." With a resolute nod of the head, and a quick salute to Eponine, he quickly made haste from the room, leaving the two alone once more. It was strange how he often came and went with such spontaneity. As all children, Gavroche had nowhere to go, but everywhere to be at once.

Enjolras cast his eyes at Eponine, who was watching him intently with features set in anxiety. In his hands, was either the push that the people needed, or the obstacle that would make their cause so much harder to share. With his patience trying severely, Enjolras remained standing solely in the centre of the room that suddenly seemed so vast, and began to tear the envelope.

As he opened the letter, a single sheet of crisp paper contained neatly inked words. Enjolras felt the weight of each one as he silently read.

_Monsieur Enjolras,_

_Thank you for your letter. As an older man, my company is thinning ever faster, and your passionate story was as entertaining as enticing. You appear to be an extremely intelligent and perceptive young man._

_That is why this reply to your letter must begin with a warning. My life has been dedicated to the people of France entirely, and it has been a rewarding, although trying experience. I can only assume you are a man younger than you sound, as you talk of your student comrades and future ideals, which is why I must highlight the following._

_There are people in life that will always think differently than you. That is the beauty of human life. They laugh differently, fight differently, hate, love, and talk different to yourself. As unfortunate as it seems, there is no way about this simple fact of human nature. No matter what you believe, there will always be someone at your heels, trying to stop you._

_In this case, Monsieur Enjolras, I do believe that half of Paris will be at your heels. As a man who has spent his life fighting for what I believe to be right, I must implore you to think about your decision carefully. If you chose this path, you will spend what life you have living in a world that you have set yourself. It will be difficult, there is no doubting._

_However, I suppose a man with your morale would not have written to me if you were not firmly set in your choice. So now I will help you._

_The French society is at the worst it can possibly be. I am no fool, I see the poor and the dying just as well as you. I have spent my life trying to help them, but have been torn down by every higher power there is._

_I can only see this ending one way, and that is with violence. Violence and blood and almost everything in between. Be prepared, young man, as there are men out there that will only ever settle things with gunfire. A battle is almost inevitable, and you must prepare for this._

_Your ideas of rallying the people is rather intelligent. I would like to think that I could meet you, or see your first public speech the day after tomorrow, however, I am confined to bed-rest as I am currently unwell. I will still give you my full support, and hope that one day we might meet face to face._

_Write again with your progress, Enjolras. I hope that you have the strength to finish what I never could._

_I hope soon to meet you and shake your hand._

_Regards, and good luck._

_General Jean Lamarque._

Enjolras read the letter once more.

_A battle is almost inevitable, and you must prepare for this._

The thought struck strangely inside him.

He and the Les Amis had agreed at the very beginning of their formation, that they would be prepared to fight in battle. They had known that there would be a possibility of the high powers only responding with violence. History provided them with evidence of a harsh world, in which men settled their differences with the blood of others. Although it was a distant thought, and an unwanted one at that, they had known there was a very real chance that they would have to defend themselves and their ideals physically.

The words of Lamarque rang in his head like haunting church bells; words of war and blood. It was true, he was not a violent man, and preferred to settle quarrels with words. However, for the foreseeable future, he knew he would need to accept the idea of violence and embrace it.

Despite their vague preparation for this, hearing the words from the mind of their revolutionary idol seemed to make the concept decidedly, and terrifyingly real.

The silence in the room was heavy, thickening the air between the walls until it was almost unbearable to breath. Time ticked past like a foreboding enemy, unstoppable in it's uncertainty.

Eponine watched him in a puddle of nerves for several minutes. When she could bear it no longer, she asked in a timid voice, afraid to break the silence, "Enjolras?" The student's shoulders twitched at the sound of her voice, but he still did not lift his head. It only spurred her anxiety. "What's the matter?"

Speaking seemed difficult to him. One he had swallowed the air he needed to steady himself, he managed to force out a slow breath. "...He's sided with us." His voice rippled through the heavy silence. "We have his support."

"Are you happy?" came a hesitant reply.

Enjolras wore his face like steel; concealed, and unwavering. Two sides fought within him. The voice of Reason, crying out at the prospect of _war. _The voice of Passion, that roared through his mind, declaring success in gaining the support they had been waiting for. The step closer to success that they needed.

The two waged a battle inside his head for minutes, until finally, he gave in true to his nature and let Passion win. His lips pulled upwards, and he let the feeling of triumph soar through his veins. "Yes," he breathed, letting the smile break his cheeks.

In his haze of relief and childlike excitement, he reached forward, placing two hands against her head, and pressed his lips messily to her head. She laughed under him, and he felt the shakes and vibrations in her body as his lips brushed her forehead.

The both felt a great weight lifted from their shoulders, knowing that this was a new, tremendous step in their progress.

As he pulled away, she was still giggling in glee. Her eyes sparkled and her dimples were deepened in her expression of joy. Enjolras kept a quiet smile to himself. It was moments like these, when he saw past her barriers and masks that kept her strong in her harsh world. When she allowed snippets of happiness to break through like rays of the sun.

It was when he witnessed these precious vignettes that he felt the same sensation inside his chest.

The feeling of marble cracking.

Enjolras found himself without words. "I, I-"

"You must go to the cafe! You should tell the others right this minute!"

That of course, was the immediate instinct of the idealistic leader. However, as he turned his heel to move towards the door, he caught Eponine's figure and took it in. She looked so small, so innocent in her minute form, huddling against the sheets. Of course, it was possibly the first time she'd slept in a bed for who knows how long? He knew in that moment, seeing her humble hint of a smile, that he would not leave her. At the least, not on her own.

He twisted the thin paper between his fingers. "It can wait," he assured. He then went to fold the letter to place it in his pocket. "When Joly returns to examine you, I will leave you in his care."

"Will your family be concerned? Do you wish to contact them?"

Her face twisted in something akin to a wince. "They'll notice I'm done when they need me for something. No, I'd rather not let them know where I am."

He did not chose to press. Curiosity of course, prompted his mind to ponder her very relationship with her family, considering she hardly spoke of them all but Gavroche. However, he knew very well that it was not his place, and any persisting in the matter might just upset her. Or send her into one of her defensive attitude spirals. "Very well."

Whilst his tact was lost, hers still sparked. It was she who spoke next. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"No. I'm an only child." Enjolras remembered as a child, his rather irrational fear of having siblings. He knew that his precious time for reading and other rare enjoyments would be sacrificed in order to care for a child. Luckily for him, his parents settled with the notion that one was enough.

"Oh," Eponine sighed. Barely a few seconds passed again until she found a new question. "Have you always lived in Paris?"

"You're extremely inquisitive this morning."

Her lips twitched in a hidden smile. "Well, since you've confined me to the bed for the day, I thought perhaps we should get to know each other."

"Very well," he obeyed. The least he could do was to try and cure her boredom in some manner. "Yes, I was born here."

She seemed pleased at his submission towards her little game, and opened her lips as to ask something new. However, as she took in a quick gasp of breath, her brow furrowed and her lips slacked in some worry-struck impression.

"Oh," was the small breath that escaped her lips.

Enjolras found himself perplexed at her quick change of emotion. "What is it?"

"We agreed I would teach you for five days."

He seemed to find it very hard to grasp her point then. "Yes?"

Eponine threw her hands up in frustration. "This is a waste of a day!" she exclaimed, her voice sharpened with annoyance. "It is our last together!" He was almost horrified to see her eyes prickling with frustrated tears. "Oh," she whined. "I'm so stupid for going and getting into trouble. What will we do? What can I teach you stuck in here?"

Enjolras winkled his nose in confusion. Was that her true worry? He himself had questioned the same matter just a day ago. However, he had simply brushed off the issue with the self-agreed declaration that he would allow the record to simply let these days of rest slip. They could resume their teaching after she had grown well again. After all, it really was never an official arrangement, was it?

He liked to think that after their 'time' was up, she would continue to remain in his company.

"I think we can agree that these two days to not count at all. How would you feel about extending the deal?" he offered. "For convenience purposes, of course."

He watched her eyes light up with excitement at the prospect. She appeared like a child again, biting on her lower lip to hide the wide grin that had appeared. "That would be good."

It was then that the door sounded again. Enjolras sighed to himself as he rose from his seat. It was not often that he had such consistent company.

Joly was waiting on the other side, his medical case tucked under one arm and a brown parcel under the other. He greeted his leader with a wide, purposeful smile. Enjolras welcomed him in, patting his shoulder fondly as he entered the room. Of all his friends, Joly he admired significantly. He regarded his intelligence and gentle nature, and his wit in often tense situations. Although he sometimes grew to be the target of teasing amongst the group (mostly due to his hypochondria and sometimes abrasive correction), he maintained a light-hearted nature. Yet it was his perseverance and dedication to his medical studies which Enjolras admired. Although the same could not greatly be said for himself anymore, he knew that Joly found the time often to maintain his streak of hard work in his school studies.

"Good morning, Joly."

"Enjolras," the young doctor greeted. As he spotted Eponine, he smiled warmly. "_Mademoiselle_. Feeling well this morning?"

"Yes, thank you."

Joly placed himself on her bedside again, and raised a quizzical brow in her direction. "Are you lying?" he asked, his voice firm.

Eponine saw the seriousness in his face, but kept hers straight. "No."

He looked unconvinced. "Hmm. May you sit up for me?" He waited until the girl sat up, before pulling up the back of her borrowed nightshirt. His lips straightened into a thin, white line. "Yes, just as I thought. The bruises are darkening quickly. They should be very sore."

Eponine grew sheepish, tugging the sheets until they vastly pooled at her waist. Her eyes dropped to her knees as she attempted to hide her increasingly pink cheeks. "Well, I suppose they are a little..."

Enjolras exhaled forcefully, rolling his sharp blue eyes to the skies. "Eponine," he scolded. He should have known she had disguised her discomfort.

To smooth the ruffled air that had quickly grown, Joly reached out and promptly presented Eponine with the brown package which he carried. "Eponine, this is for you."

Eponine, quickly curious, grasped the parcel and placed it on her lap. Enjolras watched her, carefully fixated on her face as she examined it.

"What is it?" she asked.

"My beloved Musichetta thought you would like it," Joly explained. His cheeks were slowly turning a shade of red as he explained his gift. "It is a dress. I remembered yours was ruined, you see, and I thought perhaps you could use something dry and, well...functional."

It was then Eponine's turn to turn red. Enjolras inwardly cringed, knowing that she hated being treated as a charity case. "Monsieur Joly...I cannot accept-"

Joly held his hands up, a sign of surrender. "She does not want it anymore," he assured. "She has plenty of other fine dresses, and this is one she willingly parted with. She insisted. Please, take it."

Conflict was worn on her face. She flicked her eyes between the package in her hands and Joly's face. She worried her lower lip, at last settling to mumble in a guilty manner, "Thank you."

Joly let himself smile, but quickly masked it and stooped his shoulders to lightly scowl her. "Try not to bite on your lip, lest it split again. Alright, would it be possible for you to stand?"

Enjolras moved toward her and pulled the sheets from her frail body. He made a note to himself to ensure that she received proper feeding whilst she remained in his care. It was growing increasingly harder to ignore her tiny waist and thin arms. Helping lift her from the bed, he silently relished in the feeling of her hand on his; her skin burning his own. Once he had steadied her, and her face smoothed from the previous twist of pain she wore, he looked toward his friend. "Joly, might I be able to leave you with her for a little while?"

"Of course. Business elsewhere?"

"I received a reply from Lamarque." He nodded affirming towards the Amis member, who stiffened in anxiety at the sound of their idol's name. "He's supportive. I believe we have his trust."

Joly waited for a beat. His face slowly broke into a wide grin. It seemed Enjolras was not the only one who feared the reply. "That's...brilliant. Will he be coming to the rally tomorrow?"

"He's unwell. However, I think if tomorrow goes well, we could hold the next rally outside his house."

"Wonderful."

"I'm going to the cafe to inform the others. Watch her for me?"

Eponine craned her neck to shoot him a challenging glare. "I'm not a child," she bit out.

Enjolras, in return, simply released his grasp on her and allowed her to sway on her own. He made his way towards the door, retrieving his jacket from the chair on the way.

"If you insist," he replied off-handedly.

He didn't bother to turn and catch her reaction, knowing just as well that she was scowling into his back as he left the room.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

**Thank you for all the feedback so far. **

**I would like to point out, to everyone who has not noticed, that I also updated a chapter 12. I only mention this because normally I get an email after I release a new chapter, but this time, I didn't. So I'm just making sure that you all noticed that there was a chapter uploaded before this one. **

**That is all. Thank you, and enjoy!**

* * *

When Enjolras had reached the cafe, he was relieved to find that most of the other Amis had gathered there.

He had grasped their attention quickly, and read them the letter. Most were thrilled at the response, somewhere not as enthusiastic, and questioned the idea of battle. A heated discussion took to the air, but Enjolras quickly found his voice, and used it to fiercely reignite their passion and knowledge, assuring them that it was the best way forward to success. It had taken a while, but soon, they were all in the same frame of mind.

Choosing to spend a little longer with them whilst they were so energetic about the idea, they took to planning their oncoming day of rallying. Courfeyrac and Enjolras had planned their routes to escape if they should be interrupted by the authorities. Combeferre, Bahorel, and Lesgle had shown him the leaflets which they had printed. Gavroche even decided to make an appearance a little while later (which Courfeyrac was most pleased about) and had offered his services for the next day.

Once he felt satisfied with the amount of work with which they had progressed, he dismissed himself and informed them of their meeting place for the next morning.

As an afterthought, on his way home, he stopped by the bakery and bought a few pastries for himself and Eponine as something for lunch.

When he returned home, he had not expected the sight he was met with.

He walked through the door to see Eponine sitting up in the bed, the sheets now arranged neatly around her, her frame revealed through the thin sheets. She held a book in her hands, and lowered it to share a welcoming smile at him.

"Hello again," she greeted, and promptly turned her attention back to the book in her hands.

Enjolras looked over at Joly, who had dragged a chair over to her side. He was sitting mid-pose, his hand suspended in the air above the book, as if he were pointing out the pages.

"Hello. ...What are you two doing?" His sharp eyes squinted as he recognised the intricate binding of the novel in her hands. "...With my book?"

"I was teaching Eponine some basic literacy skills," Joly explained. "She's quite a quick learner."

"I have trouble with the big words," Eponine added, her cheeks blushing as she admitted her poor education. "But the simple things are fine to read."

Enjolras nodded, and made his way towards the table. "Ah. Well, don't let me stop you."

Joly rose from his seat then, brushing the imaginary particles of dust from his clothing. "On the contrary, I think we've done enough for today." He turned and placed a light hand on his patient's shoulder, and shared a warm smile. "Rest well, Eponine."

"Can I go outside later?" Eponine asked. Her eyes were wide and wondering at the prospect of leaving the room. "It's going to get awfully dull stuck in bed all day."

Enjolras watched the young medical student, observing his reaction. Joly's lips twisted in thought. "You mustn't strain yourself. You've gone through a significant shock and your body needs proper recovery time."

"I will find you things to do, Eponine," Enjolras spoke aloud. He was glad that he would not have to worry over a possible trip outside. "I have some tasks that I will need your help with."

The _gamine_ rolled her eyes in obvious distain. "What fun," she mumbled.

Joly, having packed his kit and buttoned his jacket, sent Enjolras a small wave. "See you tomorrow."

"_Au revoir,_ Joly."

One he had watched his friend leave, Enjolras lifted his eyes to Eponine as he began to organise his papers.

"You enjoy reading?" he questioned, noticing how her eyes continued to trail across the pages. Her tongue stuck out in concentration in quite the strangest expression he had seen in a while.

She shrugged in return. "It depends on the story."

"I suppose you would like romance novels or such."

Shaking her head, Eponine made a face of mild disgust. "Not particularly. They're not very realistic, are they?" Her head tilted, and her eyes grew soft in dejection. "It's not as if love happens that easily."

_Hardly. It is quite possibly the most irritating notion of which I have ever come across._

"Hmm," was his sombre reply.

"What do you enjoy reading?"

"History, politics...Anything that inspires me."

Once he had finished arranging her plate (a habit he had begun to welcome into his routine), he moved to her and placed it on her outstretched legs. "You are to eat this all. Understood?"

She grasped a floured pastry in her hands, and tutted as she broke a piece off. "Yes, _maman_."

In retort, Enjolras frowned heavily. She hardly cowered, and simply threw the piece in her mouth as she watched him expectantly.

When he found he could not come up with a clever reply, she continued. "How did the Amis react to the letter?"

"Mixed emotions."

Eponine watched him as she chewed, her cheeks filled with delicious pastry as she mumbled, "About?"

He paused. It had been clear to him that he would need to reveal detail of the letter. However, he had not counted on her being so curious so promptly.

"Lamarque believes that the fight will end in bloodshed. That the only way to overthrow the government is to partake in battle."

Her chewing paused. She watched him carefully for a few moments, before managing to force out a quiet, "Oh."

"I have no problem with such a thing, I knew that it was a possibility. However, the Amis need to make their own choices. They must decide whether to place their own lives on the line."

Something in his words made her react strangely. He watched, perplexed, as her features twitched in a small wince. "You'd die for the cause?"

When the words left her mouth, Enjolras understood how absurd it sounded; to sacrifice yourself for something so grand. However, he was not afraid. Most men feared their inevitable meeting with Death. Yet he was unafraid. He knew the day he would meet his ultimate adversary, he would greet him warmly and go with him without protest. Of all things in life, it seemed silly to try and avoid such a certainty. It made more sense to him to accept it with pride, and having had spent his spirits on something more worthwhile. The freedom of the lesser people of France, for example.

"I'd rather die in the name of _Patria_, than live to see her in ruins," he said. The name of their motherland burned hot like fire on his tongue.

Eponine, however, seemed untouched by his same passion. "How noble," she bit, sarcasm dripping from her words.

"Eponine, the people will rise with us. We will not be alone." He attempted to sound assuring, trying to bring some form of comfort to the both of them. "The more support we bring, the more we have on our side. Victory is drawing near."

Although his words were gentle, she still managed to cling to his innermost doubts about the concept. "And what happens if they don't? What happens if we are left to fight alone?"

_We?_

Something inside his mind clicked then. Of course, what else would he have expected. Deep down he knew that Eponine was more than a woman, more than a simple person trying to survive. She would want to fight with them, down to the blood. However, Enjolras, as desperate as he was to complete their wider objectives, remembered who he was. He was a man, an honest one at that, and knew that he would never live with the guilt of having an innocent member of the public be killed in their battle.

Although he knew Eponine had some dedication to the revolution, he knew that he had been the one to entangle her into their plans. He would ultimately be the one responsible for whatever turmoil he caused her.

The image of her body, pale and blood stained, set off a harsh churning sensation inside his stomach. It was a feeling which he did not want to repeat.

"We?" he echoed. Feeling his face set sternly, he crossed his arms over his chest in resolution. "Firstly, the people will grow to trust us. They will fight for the world they want to bring. Secondly, you will not be inserting yourself into our violent matters. The battlefield is no place for a woman."

She blinked in reaction. When she found her voice once more, it was harsh and bitter. "But the streets are?" she retorted. "Do not think I'm going to let you all fight without me - your success is partly my doing."

Part of Enjolras had suspected her stubbornness, and had already planned an argument to return with. "And how would you plan do defend yourself? Hm?"

"I can shoot a gun."

"What if you don't get one?"

"Then I can fight with my fists. I've seen others do it before."

A sigh of breath escaped him like a frustrated hiss. The idea of her brandishing a dangerous weapon was difficult enough, and the image of her in hand-to-hand combat with a fully grown man was considerably worse. "Oh for God's sake, Eponine-"

"You need not worry about me becoming a distraction, I can handle myself."

His eyes were fixated on her face, and he felt his jaw tighten with annoyance. "I am not discussing this now. With any luck, a battle will not even have to commence."

"But I-"

"_Not. Now,_" he bit out, with a commanding tone so fierce that it settled her protests immediately.

Upon seeing her defeated face, he turned his back to her and marched over to his table.

"I have letters to write. Sit there and read quietly," he ordered, his voice still containing traces of aggression.

He placed himself in his chair, scraping it closer to the table with more force than necessary. Quickly diving himself into his words, he began to write.

Soon the only sounds that filled the air were the quick, scratching marks of ink against paper, and the hesitant, gentle chews of food from the bed.

Enjolras quickly found his mind completely occupied by his task at hand. He was writing letters upon reading Lamarque's reply, handling jobs he had set himself as soon as he had read the words.

Being the revolutionary mind he was, he had attracted the company of other rebellious folk around the streets of Paris. He had useful (although, rarely used) connections with various working men. He knew a particularly boisterous shop owner down in the _Boulevard de Capucines _who was a steady dealer of weaponry, more specifically, guns. He knew that should they need it, he would supply them with a large supply of gunpowder and shells.

Amongst his contacts was a memorable owner of a fabrics factory. If persuaded the right way, he was sure they could find the time to mass produce some of their signature pins to dispense around the public.

He wrote consistently to various others around the clock, only stopping every now and then to rest his hand and his quickly stiffening back.

On the rare occasion that he flickered his vision to the woman in his bed, he saw that she was reading from the same book. Her lips seemed to be permanently twisted in the same, frustrated expression. He guessed that she was having some trouble finding a good pace to read the complex wording at.

It was then that he would resume his work, fiercely trying not to abandon his work all together to go and help her.

Hours passed like minutes, and it was only when Enjolras found a sharp ray of bright sunlight shining directly into his vision that he had to look up. He squinted, and saw the sun was setting into the backdrops of the streets, creeping over the dismantled rooftops of the slums. Shadows began to cut through the room in sharp angles, shading everything it met like an old friend.

However, he found himself gazing upon a sight much more beautiful than the picturesque view.

In his observing of the dying day, he had let his eyes wonder to Eponine, who had not moved from her reading position.

The marble man found the breath escaping from his body quickly and mercilessly.

In the night, he had seen her as an enigmatic creature, lit by the moon and stars. She was a mystery bathed in silver and hidden by shadows. It was now, radiant in the setting sun, that he at last saw her fire and light.

Her skin welcomed the warmth with an ignited glow. It danced in her hair like a crown, and glimmered in her eyes. Gold entwined with chocolate. She appeared to him then like a phoenix in the flame, illuminated by light and life. He was sure that he had never seen a thing as beautiful.

For several minutes, it was all he could do but stare, feeling his heart pound beneath his chest and his body stiffen.

He had to tear his gaze away then. No longer able to stand the sight that made his mouth grow dry and his blood run hot. It worried him, how much she had taken over his thoughts. All his life, there had been two main divides in his attention.

Life. Liberty.

Life was a simple thing. Birth, the In-Between acts, and Death. It was simple, and numb, and routine. It did not bother Enjolras, nor did it thrill him.

Liberty was everything that pushed him forward. It was the breaking from him and his family, the fuel of everything he did.

Yet now, he felt those thoughts being pushed, cramped into a smaller, compact space in his mind. They were being forced to make way for a new divide.

_Eponine._

"Enjolras?"

He started. Breaking out his reverie, Enjolras straightened his back as if he had been struck with a hot poker. His hands, which had previously hung mindlessly at his sides, were now fidgeting, tugging at his clothing in a habit to distract himself. "Yes?"

She was staring at him now. Her eyes were dulled in thought, and her book dropped into her lap. "After tomorrow, when your identities are revealed..." She worried her bottom lip in nerves, a gesture which he found himself becoming captivated in. "Javert will be out for your heads. You are committing treason."

Her worry confused and thrilled him simultaneously. He liked to think that perhaps her concern grew from an attachment to him, as childish as it sounded. Slowly, he found himself day by day growing more and more curious as to what their relationship might become. Trying to settle her nerves, he shared with her a confident smirk. "We've spent a large amount of dedication to covering our tracks. Our names will not be found easily, nor does anyone suspect the Cafe to be our whereabouts."

His self assured nature, however, did nothing to calm her. "You cannot hide forever," she simply mused quietly, as if she were afraid of her own words.

Enjolras felt his brow furrow. How odd it was that she found herself so troubled over his issues. Of course, he thought about it in nothing more than a joking manner, but it seemed more and more that she would become extremely attached to him. However, the strangest thought of all, was that the idea did not seem unpleasant to him.

Still, her previous statement did.

His eyes narrowed in defence, and his back stiffened into a straight form as it always did when he felt himself growing small. "I am not hiding from anything," he insisted, his voice hardening. "If they find me, I will take the blame for the entire operation. If they want to kill me, then I shall take it with my head held high. I will _not_, however, result to cowardice."

Silence grew heavy between them. Eponine shifted under the sheets, wringing the material in her hands.

"Please try not to get caught," she finally decided to say. "I don't think I would be able to accept that."

Enjolras held back a sigh. Whilst he felt the weight of her plea, he found himself more frustrated at the concept that she cared so. It had been so long since he had remembered being cared for in such a genuine way. It touched his cool heart with burning contact, warming his insides slowly. "I will try."

"We are friends, you know," she added. "I would never sell you or the others out."

"I trust you."

At that, she smiled. Her cheeks reddened with a sudden shyness. "I want you to know how thankful I am for all you've done. I know I mean nothing to you. You are nothing but a gentleman, and a friend, and possibly the kindest person I have ever known." She did not seemed to catch his flushing skin, and continued to speak. "I've been thinking, and I've decided that I'm not going to leave your side during this revolution. You're doing it for people like me, and I intend to pay you back with my support and my heart."

Enjolras blinked. His blood raced at her words; a testament to how much he had let himself become encapsulated by this woman.

Trying desperately not to let himself become completely mindless to her speech, he swallowed, a hard lump forming in his throat. "I appreciate that, Eponine," he said earnestly. "However, I will not keep you any longer than you wish. If you chose to leave, I will understand."

Her lips spread into a secret smile. Shining in her eyes was the hidden joy of someone who was afraid to let herself become completely captured by one person. She was frightened, afraid to put such reliance on him and the cause, and he could see it clear as day. "Where else am I going to go?"

"Well, you certainly will make a highlight in the history books." His lips twitched upwards at the notion. "The first woman of the _Les Amis de L'ABC_."

Eponine tilted her head, as if she were testing the idea in her mind. The sight was sweet, and highly interesting to him all of a sudden. "I like that."

Her satisfied grin enthralled him. Tearing his eyes from her face, he turned his attention to the window. The moonlight had begun to streak through the window, lighting the dust that floated in the air like lights. Life at night seemed quieter, simpler, in which one could really just look at the things directly in front of them. In the dark, the mind thrived, and things were clear.

In fear of such a thing, Enjolras mumbled gently under his breath, "Go to sleep, please."

He felt it again. The feel of stone breaking away inside him. The more it did, the more he felt compelled to like her, to consider _loving her. _It was still a thought, however, that he chose not to let consume his thoughts in a convoluted haze for the next several hours.

When she bid him good night, he chose to turn his eyes to his papers and not bring them back up. Not even to the sound of her sleepy voice breath, "_Oui_. 'Night."

Beside him, his hand was fisted tightly. He knew, whatever these strange thoughts and feelings were suddenly stirring inside him, that they would need to be ignored. It was in both their best interests.

Life was cruel to people that questioned it. For everything he was planning on doing to the government, he knew that whatever he could try and persue with Eponine would arrive at nothing but a bitter end. As annoying, and undeniably pleasant at these new feelings she drew out of him were, he knew that he must stamp them out before they reached unrealistic magnitude.

Strangely, that thought was as harsh to him as it could have been.

"Goodnight," he spoke quietly into the room.

In the recesses of his mind, he began to wonder when it was that she had begun to start having his effect on him.

When she had begun to cause the emotionless man to feel.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

**Thanks, as ever, for all those who take the time to leave a review (and of course, those who take time to read this at all). This is rather short, but next one should be a little longer. Thank you, and enjoy!**

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"Eponine, you are being incredibly frustrating!"

"Well believe me, the feeling is mutual."

"Get back into the bed before I _make _you_._"

"No, I've decided, I'm no longer listening to you."

Enjolras grinded his teeth together. It was too early in the morning for such trivial disagreements.

Eponine was sitting on the edge of the mattress, her legs swung over the side. He maintained his cold glare, simply daring her to disobey his orders for bed rest. She twirled her foot threateningly above the floor.

"If you step one foot off that bed _Mademoiselle_, I will personally escort you outside and leave you in the cold in your nightshirt," he seethed, threat lacing his words.

In return, Eponine's eyes widened, before narrowing tightly to shoot daggers into him.

"Enjolras, I refuse to bend to your orders. I am not one of your student friends," she bit back. Her arms folded tightly across her chest in resolution. "I am going to your rally today, and that is the last I'm saying on the matter."

Enjolras released a sigh, but it did little to relax his tightened shoulders. She was being ridiculous, he knew it well. Joly had insisted she caught up on her rest before she could even consider going outside. Not only was her body weakened by the ordeal, but her mind would no doubt be frail as well.

How would he be able to complete their rally with success, or drive a riveting speech to the crowds, if he was to spend his entire time worrying?

"Eponine, I'm telling you, no. Whether we have a crowd of five, or five hundred, it is not practical, or safe for you to go outside in your condition."

She rolled her eyes and let out a strangled groan in frustration. "But I am perfectly capable of simply standing there! What if I could get someone to come with me?"

Enjolras scoffed. "I doubt you will find a member of the Amis who will not have a job to do today. I don't have time to arrange you a babysitter."

"Well, I'm still going. If I have to wait until you leave before I come, then so be it."

His eyes burned with that remark. Stepping towards her, he leaned down, and spoke the words clearly, emphasising every word like venom. "If I see you there, I promise you, our friendship will be greatly tested."

"Why do you care whether I am there? Just do your job and leave your mind to focus on your role as leader."

Feeling his previously calm demeanour crumble around him, he stood straight suddenly. His hands flew up in irritation. "I care because you are in my charge! I am responsible for your health for the foreseeable future. I don't have time for guilt if something were to happen to you."

At that moment, the door sounded with a friendly knock. Eponine huffed, knowing perfectly well who it was. It only meant that time was growing shorter to win her case.

As Enjolras opened the door, four of the Amis were waiting on the other side. They looked younger in anticipation, readiness gleaming in their eyes. Well, all bar Grantaire, who slugged himself through the door with the rest of them.

Eponine's eyes dropped to their smart clothes and their colourful pins. The weight of the day suddenly dawned on her. After this, all of Paris would know who they were, the poor and the rich alike. They would become the target of the _cognes - _the hunted ones. There would be no hiding. The thought frightened her, but she swallowed her fears back down, remembering their goal of goodness.

Enjolras greeted the Amis with a relieved breath. "Thank the Lord! Come in _Les Amis._" He reached forward and pulled Joly inwards by his shoulder, directing him towards her path. "Joly, will you please tell Eponine that she is not permitted to leave the room today?"

"I want to come to the rally!" she declared, unwilling to let herself waver to his demands. "I am partly the reason it is happening in the first place."

The young man she recognised as Jehan stuck his head around the doorframe. "That is a fair point," he admitted, his fingers tickling his chin as if he were in deep thought. Enjolras shot him a cold glance, to which the student dropped his eyes and mumbled a quick, "Sorry."

Joly stood awkwardly in the centre of the room, his eyes fixated on her form. "Eponine, today will be busy. There will be a lot of standing around, and if the police show, we will need to make a quick exit." With guilt creasing his features, he shrugged his shoulders lightly. "I think that it be best if you stay."

Eponine wanted to cry, or scream. She had put just as much work into teaching Enjolras as he had in learning. She had wanted so badly to watch him speak. Any denial of access he was giving to her only spurred her on, and reminded her of what she was missing. Honestly, she had expected Joly to perhaps be a little fairer and understanding. "But...That's not fair."

She felt furious at herself as the feeling of hot, unshed tears prickled behind her eyes.

The men in the room visibly cowered, all eyes growing wide as they looked upon the slowly breaking girl. She wasn't quite sure who spoke next, but it was certainly a hesitant voice.

"Are you crying?" it asked in disbelief.

Shaking her head angrily, she dropped her head. "No!" she snapped. Using her sleeve, she quickly wiped at her eyes. "I was so looking forward to going. How can you take that away from me? Why do I have to miss your first rally?"

Enjolras held his stance. His face was as composed as ever as he replied bluntly, "Because I said so."

"Well, it's not as if you can keep me here," she threatened. She could perfectly well make it down there without him.

He seemed to anticipate this. With a furrow of his brow, he crossed his arms over his chest. "Grantaire." He turned to face the young man in question. "You are to miss the rally today. I want you to stay here and watch her."

Eponine, who would rather be thrown out than be nannied, felt her jaw slacken. "What?!"

Grantaire, who marvelled in the idea of getting out of their rally, grinned widely. "Alright!"

"Enjolras, you can't be serious!" she exclaimed, shooting him the coldest glare she could muster.

"I am deadly serious," he replied with equal strength. "If I cannot trust you to stay here, then you leave me no choice. I only ask Grantaire because he has nothing better to do with his time and will probably be of no use today, anyway."

Grantaire, who was listening with a beaming smile, leaned in towards Combeferre. "Is he insulting me?"

Eponine felt her blood burning through her veins. Never before had she felt such a loss of control. She hated him for it. "I won't forgive you for this."

"That's your choice," Enjolras replied firmly, although she didn't miss the quick crease of his eyes as she spat out her harsh words. "Please, try and rest-"

She tugged her shoulder away. Knowing very well that she was behaving like a spoilt child, she could not help herself. Nobody had ever told her to do anything her entire like (with the exception of her father), and it burned her so.

Enjolras, with such small movement, flinched. It went unnoticed by the other Amis, but she spotted it clearly. A small fog of guilt sunk into her stomach. However, before she could further look upon whatever little emotional damage she had caused him, he had resorted back to his tall stance, his face a picture of indifference. He had placed his mask back over his feelings, and she hated him for that too.

He patted down his jacket, and pulled in his labels to tidy himself.

She had to admit, in all her annoyance for him, she could not deny he looks extremely handsome in his burgundy jacket. There was excitement and anxiety all at once in his eyes, making them shine with life.

"Are we ready?" he addressed his friends.

"_Oui,_ Enjolras."

They began to trudge out the door, each one sending her a somewhat sympathetic look as they did so. Joly attempted such a thing, but quickly grew red with shame as he caught her glaring eyes. Once they were outside, Enjolras stopped by the doorframe, just feet away from Grantaire.

"Grantaire," he spoke quietly, his teeth gritted the words. He raised a pointed finger towards the student. "You do not leave this room. She does not leave this room. I am trusting you with her care. Make sure she eats, and drinks plenty of water. Also, don't-"

Grantaire, with no regard for his own safety at that moment, pushed Enjolras' finger away like it was nothing more than a fly. He scoffed. "She's a woman, Enjy. Not a bird with a broken wing. Tell me, should I rub her shoulders before or after I bath her?"

Whilst the other Amis managed to crack a few grins and subdued chuckles, Enjolras was hardly amused. A glare carved his features as he matched Grantaire's stare with equal seriousness. After a moment of silence, thick with tension, Enjolras simply muttered, "No drinking."

In return, Grantaire lifted a hand to his forehead in salute. "_Oui_, Apollo."

Sending one last look of resolution towards Eponine, as if to say 'You'd better be here when I get back', Enjolras straightened his shoulders and retreated from the door, shutting it firmly behind him.

Grantaire turned and sent her a self-satisfied grin. "Well, that's them gone," he said cheerily, and began to make his way across the room.

Eponine watched the student for a few moments as he went on to rummage through Enjolras' kitchen cupboards; a desperate search for his preferred sustenance. After a few moments of watching him groan and grunt in disappointment, she spoke for the first time.

"I doubt he keeps any alcohol in his cupboards," she muttered. She was cross - not with him in particular, but with all the silly Amis that confined her to this room. Enjolras was her main magnet of rage, but of course, she was left with Grantaire as a target.

Grantaire, seemingly oblivious to her directed anger, simply slumped and sighed a heavy breath. "You're right. It seems the man is just as dull as I truly believed." As the boredom began to settle already, he turned and ran his eyes over her.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, the first genuine thought to have crossed his mind that did not allude to getting drunk to pass the time.

His thoughtfulness touched her a little, but she remembered her stubborn nature and directed her eyes pointedly out the window. "No."

"Thirsty?"

"No."

"Well, that's our run of the line activities out the window." Clapping his hands together out of boredom, he spun on his heels and looked around the room. Eponine quietly noticed how energetic the man was when he was not glued to a bottle of booze. "When would you like to leave?"

She had to look back at him then. "What?"

Grantaire huffed. He seemed to grow increasingly tired of having to explain things to the young woman, almost as if he were watching an infant instead. "When do you want to go to the rally?" he clarified, enunciating his words so clearly, one could have thought he had a severe speech impediment.

Eponine blinked. Within the few minutes that Enjolras had been gone, she had already formulated several plans in order to ditch the drunk and sneak out on her own accord. She had not counted on him inviting her from his pure selfless intentions.

At the idea of being able to see Enjolras speak in person, her heart began to race. "You're going to let me go?"

In return, the young man smirked. "My dear girl, I am going to take you there." He appeared rather pleased with himself. Whether it was because he was directly contradicting Enjolras' orders, or if it was his own pride at his friendly manners, she had no clue. "On the condition that we stop by the wine shop first. And that you answer a few questions."

_Ah, perhaps not so selfless._

"Go ahead."

He moved forward, choosing to settle against the table as he leaned back into it. He kept his stance casual by crossing his arms over his chest. "...Why are you so attached to him? You two are so incredibly different. What has he done to capture you so?"

It took her a moment to come up with a clear answer. Truthfully, even she found it difficult to comprehend why he was so important to her so suddenly. "He hasn't done anything," she decided to say. "All my life, I've been treated poorly and without care. Perhaps I deserve it. All I know is that Enjolras looks past my clothes and the dirt on my face. He enjoys my company, and wants to hear what I have to say. He's my friend, and I feel I owe him everything I can."

"How is it that you have captured him in return? Myself and the boys were wondering, since we've witnessed a variety of emotions in him more than we have since we formed."

"I think I'm just honest with him. Although he doesn't always like it."

"Does he not intimidate you?"

"At first, yes. He has such a voice. Although I think he just wants to use it to do good in the world."

"Do you love him?"

The question, whilst it shouldn't have, caught her off guard. She felt her eyes grow wide, whilst his remained painfully unresponsive, as if he had asked her nothing more menial than what she had for breakfast.

"I will not tell," he chose to add, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Eponine remembered, after having been attacked, sitting curled up in the subversive darkness of the alley. He had been her first thought, and her last before unconsciousness consumed her. She thought of how she had hated herself for loving him, and how much she knew it would break her when he was inevitably going to leave her.

So, instead of returning the question with a simple yes or no, she replied with the question that struck her heart constantly. "...Does it matter?"

Grantaire nodded slowly. It was as if he knew her unspoken answer as well as she did. However, he did not say anything. She was glad when he did not continue to ask her anymore probing questions.

"Alright then. Shall I leave you to dress yourself?" His face flickered quickly, a faint trace of hotness growing in his cheeks. Reaching around, he rubbed the back of his neck as the air around them seemed to thicken with awkwardness. "Or do you need...assistance?"

Eponine resisted the urge to roll her eyes. How was it that men always seemed to grow so childish at the thought of a woman undressing. "I can dress myself."

He nodded almost immediately, turning to move towards the door. He seemed thankful for the opportune exit. "I will be outside."

Waiting until he had left the room, Eponine slowly began to ease herself out of the bed. With a full day of bed rest behind her, her limbs felt stiff and aching with the sudden movement. She hissed as she stood up, feeling her spine creak with the movement. A small part of her brain chided her for being so impulsive, and warned her that leaving the apartment would not be the best move. However, a larger, louder part of her anticipated the rally so much, that it neglected to pay mind to the other, more reasonable voice.

Once she had stood and stretched her body a comfortable amount, her eyes fell to the package Joly and given to her.

She sucked her lower lip against her teeth. It did not feel right, wearing another woman's clothes. She felt as if she would be posing, pretending to push herself into a world in which she hardly belonged. In her mind, she was a street rat, a _gamine_, and nothing more. How was it that she had come to deserve new clothes, when many, less fortunate than her, could barely live with what they had?

However, curiosity was forceful with her, and she grasped the package from the bed and began to untie the string. As a young girl, she remembered sitting on the steps of the family inn, imagining what her life would be like if she were a princess, or a proper lady. She pictured herself owning hundreds of beautiful dresses, picturing the fine details of the colours and fabrics she would wear.

Nowadays, she wasn't even sure what she would do with a pair of shoes.

As she pulled back the brown paper, she felt a sigh of relief.

It was simple; dark green in colour, like the forest in spring. The material was a simple cotton, and Eponine relished in the thought of wearing such a sturdy fabric that would last her far longer than her previous ratty chemise. As she held it in front of her, she found that it was simple in design, but far prettier than anything she had owned before. It looked rather big against her, and she knew her frail frame would be covered by the baggy material, but there and then, she hardly cared.

Excitement filled her, and she went to stripping herself of Enjolras' nightgown (she tried not to miss the warmth against her skin as she pulled it off) and pulling the dress onto her body. She reminded herself to thank Joly again as she slipped it onto herself - she could tell already that it would keep her considerably warmer than her previous dress. The waist was loose around her, as it was around her chest, but she found herself smiling with glee. She knew that it was probably the most expensive thing she had owned in years. This single dress probably cost more than what she managed to scavenge in six months worth. The sleeves were short, and ended just below her shoulders, and she quickly found herself glad that whilst it was more practical, it was not a lot more garnish in design than her previous.

Perhaps it would go unnoticed that she was running around in someone else's clothing. At least this way, she would not be suspected of finding her money through the attentions of a wealthy man; a reputation she would rather starve than suffer from. After all, what else did she have if she did not have her dignity?

She quickly went to the door then, fearing that she might miss the start of the Amis' rally should she spend so much time admiring her new outfit.

Grantaire was leaning against the stairwell barrier, his arms folded tightly across his chest. When she stepped out, she did not miss his eyebrows shoot quickly upwards.

He pursed his lips in judgement. "Hmm. That's an improvement. Our marble leader is a lucky man." A small smile wore lightly on his face, before fading sadly into nothing. Eponine frowned briefly, wondering if she had seen correctly.

Feeling a sudden surge of affection for the man in front of her, Eponine stepped forward and lunged her arms around him in a thankful embrace. She felt him stiffen underneath her arms at the unexpected gesture.

"Thanks for this, Grantaire," she breathed. It took a moment, but he finally managed to return the hug in his own way by reaching around with one arm and patting her shoulder.

"Well...he was most likely going to kill me at one point or another," he mumbled. He then used his free hand to gently push her away. She took no offence to the action, simply grinning in amusement at his awkwardness.

"Can we leave? You want to go to the wine shop and I do not want to miss the start."

At the mention of his beloved place of solace, Grantaire allowed a wide grin to spread from cheek to cheek. Then, forgetting his previous shyness, he reached out and offered her his arm, which she accepted with a warm smile. "On our way we go."


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables. But as of yesterday, I own the DVD. *fist pumps the air***

**Thanks, as ever, for the reviews you all posted in response to the previous chapter. I hope you have a good rest of the week. Enjoy!**

* * *

Eponine soon discovered that life for Grantaire was lead by a simple rule.

Never be content unless you have a drink.

They had left Enjolras' apartment and made their way onto the street (albeit, slowly due to her still frail condition) and down the road towards his favourite wine shop. All the time, he was nattering away in her ear, telling her stories of Enjolras that she admitted were rather amusing. Perhaps it was his own pure excitement of reloading his booze fuel, or maybe it was his way of trying to keep her mind off the dull pain that ached her body. Either way, it worked.

She promised she would wait outside for him whilst he went in. He looked sceptical, but agreed, and she was glad when he trusted her to wait on the street. The smell of harsh alcohol still burned her nostrils and shook her memories of her father.

It was when she had started to get bored of waiting, that something caught her eye just across the road.

Tentatively, she moved towards it to get other look.

Just opposite the wine shop, hidden quaintly between two large, looming buildings, stood a tiny fabric shop. In the window, an array of clothes were displayed in a fountain of colour. Bright greens, blues, and yellows filled her eye. As she got closer, she almost found herself pressing her nose against the window in awe. Only in her dreams had she seen such a collection of colours. There was a showcase of pastels, bright flashes of shades she couldn't even describe. It captivated her, and it was only when she felt Grantaire's hand touch her arm lightly that she even tore her gaze away.

"Are you ready?" he asked, patting the breast of his jacket. She supposed it was where he kept his flask.

She took one last glance at the window. In the centre, hung between two dark shades of blue, was a flash of red. It was, to her, the most wonderful colour of them all. Never before had she seen such a bright shade of _rouge. _It brought forth a single image in her head.

_Enjolras._

It was him. It was his eyes when he was in a daze of passion, his cheeks when he grew adorably bashful, and his soul when he unveiled it. She knew then, within a heartbeat, that she would find a way to buy the fabric for him. She knew he would like it, as it was the colour of his revolution. The colour of rebellion.

How she would find the money, she would work out another time.

"Yes."

She turned and resumed her following of the student, who had already began babbling away about another humiliating prank with Courfeyrac.

The walk to the _Place de Bastille _passed quickly, mainly due to Eponine's attempt at speed walking. As they rounded the corner to the elephant monument in which Gavroche lived, her heart thumped wildly in her chest.

She was unsure whether any of them had imagined this sort of reaction.

Hundreds of people had gathered, all yelling and crying out words of enthusiasm and support. They smashed their fists into the air and seemed to shake the ground with their excitement.

Eponine looked toward Grantaire. He too was shocked, his jaw slacked slightly at the size of support.

There was no doubt in her mind that Enjolras and the Amis would not be successful at gaining interest, but even she had not suspected his magnitude. Upon closer inspection, she noticed that most of the crowd were dressed in rags, their faces dirty and stained with marks of the street. They were their targets, the poor, and they had succeeded in reeling them in.

She wanted to get closer - in the distance, stood upon a stage made up of boxes and wine barrels, she saw a blur of burgundy and a flash of blonde. Knowing well enough that she would not be able to hear what she had came to from this distance, she stepped forward. She longed to be part of the crowd, to be involved in the exchange of emotions and cheers.

When she moved, she felt Grantaire's hand grasp her elbow and tug her back gently.

She looked at him, and saw his hesitant face. Although he did not deny her, he gave her a look, silently warning her that things were about to get a little more hectic.

"Stay close," he instructed.

She nodded, and allowed him to lead her closer to the action.

Slipping into the crowds was not easy. People were jumping up, shoving each other to get a better view. Eponine allowed Grantaire to do the pushing for them, pulling them further and furthur into the swell of people.

Eponine looked around. It was strange, seeing the people she had lived amongst grow so active. She could almost feel the pounding of angry hearts, and feel the heat in their veins as their thoughts were spoken aloud.

In the corner of her eye, delved in between a particularly boisterous group of men, she spotted a small figure with his fists clenched and his teeth bared in a grin.

"Gavroche?" she murmured. Of course, what else could she have expected? She knew the boy had grown close to the Amis, and admired them greatly. Who was she to deny him the right to be involved in their protests?

However, the sight of him packed in between several rowdy crowd members unnerved her slightly.

Before she could consider doing anything to intervene, another, taller figure appeared behind him. Courfeyrac. He reached down and lifted the boy up onto his shoulders, to which Gavroche cheered in appreciation. The two pumped their fists in the air, joining together in cheers of '_Vive la France! Vive la France!_'

She let herself be pulled away by Grantaire.

He escorted her closer to the front, and released her elbow. She looked up to the stage and saw what was causing such behaviour of the people.

Marius and Combeferre stood on both sides of the stage, waving papers and leading the chants. Their faces were darkened with knowledge, stirred on by the crowd's voices of encouragement. All childish demeanour from earlier that morning had disappeared. These were men; their blood fuelled by their beliefs and brewing with ideals.

However, she only looked upon them for a few moments, before someone else, far more dominating captured her attention.

Enjolras stood upfront. His eyes burned with fire and passion as he yelled words of liberty and equality. He spoke down to the people, holding their every breath, the sole focus of every eye.

She craned her neck, desperate to get a look. She knew that being seen by Enjolras would meet immense trouble for her and Grantaire - after all, she was pretty sure that 'Don't you dare leave the room' wasn't code for 'Sneak out and come to the rally'. Then again, she never really was one for rules.

Eponine felt her heart beat frantically under her chest. The image froze her, causing a heat to rise in her stomach and a shiver to run down her spine.

He was magnificent. Never before had she felt so small beneath him. The words poured from his lips with such power, such command, that she was sure he had captured the heart of every soul in a ten mile radius. His golden curls tumbled around his forehead as he shook it wildly. He appeared more now like a fierce creature in place of an ordinary man.

He burned like the sun, and as she fixated her gaze on him, the rest of the world seemed to disappear in a haze. He was so bright, so commanding, and stood with moved with every grace of some immortal being. His voice was sharp, clear, and seemed to echo through even the loudest of audience members like thunder.

At that moment, she was reminded of how truly handsome he was. His jaw was defined; strong and stiking. Even with the distance between them, she knew already what lay in his eyes. Blue in the most wonderful shade, forever sharp with alertness, with thought. She could not help but admire his physique, his lean yet muscular body. She remembered the feel of his hands, roughened by paper and firm at the touch.

Despite all her devotion to him in those moments, she could not help but think of Montparnasse. How she had looked upon him fondly as a young girl, and was heavily attracted to him, just as the other girls in her street. He was sly, a rugged gentleman in his own manner. Yet he was forceful, and childish at times when he did not get his way. He had the laziness and lack of grace that made his looks less than appealing. Nothing like Enjolras.

No, Enjolras was worth far more in her eyes and her heart. He was the finest specimen of a man. The vision of him set her soul alight.

"He's brilliant," she said, her voice barely above a breath.

Grantaire cast his eyes to her. "You're surprised?"

"I just...he's- _ah!_"

Some overly-enthused crowd member had rammed into her side, causing her to stumble and release a hiss of pain. No sooner had it happened, did Grantaire appear on her other side, and shove the man away with a forceful glare.

"Watch it," he snapped. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or maybe even a sudden surge of protectiveness for his new friend, but she felt his hand slip carefully to her waist as to shield her from the chaotic mass around them. "We can leave if you want."

"No, no."

Eponine forced herself to tear her eyes away from him long enough to take a glance at the people around them. The men, spurred on by their anger at the government and their passion created by the Amis, yelled and chanted cruel words of the monarchy. The women, their eyes ablaze and their deepest instincts awakened by the sight of the handsome students that lead them.

A dark feeling akin to jealousy rippled through her. She knew simply by the admiring looks on their faces that they lusted for them, Enjolras in particular. An odd territorial instinct caught her in it's grasps, and made her wish she could tell them all that she was the one who found him. She was the one who made him the way he was.

However, one more look in his direction, and all bad feelings washed away from within her. His intrepid nature caused her to calm easily.

"_The time for change is now!_" she heard him declare with a fierce voice. "_Let us take back the opportunities from which they stole! Every man, woman, and child deserves to be fed!_"

That caused a ripple of uproar from the crowd. They loved him and his promising words.

_"Whilst the rich live in selfish comfort, they live the rest of us here to die without dignity. Well no longer! Your time will come, if you stand with us. It'll come! It'll come!"_

In a dramatic end, he launched his fist into the air, and bared his gritted teeth as he breathed. His chest rose and fell with each panting exhale. Eponine's own breath caught in her chest at the sight of him.

It was then that it happened. The fleeting moment.

Still caught in his daze of passion and energy, Enjolras swept his eyes over the crowd. As he looked through the audience of the poor, Eponine suddenly realised that then was the time to leave.

However, before she found the time to turn to Grantaire, the icy blue eyes of the idealist leader met hers.

She froze.

He froze.

Confusion seemed to hit him first, and she watched his eyes narrow in thought. Then they widened, and quickly creased together in a midst of recognition. Recognition turned to rage.

Within a heartbeat, he was moving, stepping down from the stage and making his way into the audience. The other Amis did not seem to notice his change in pace, still captivated in the heat of the moment.

Grantaire suddenly seemed to notice their impending doom also. "Time to go," he muttered. The need for haste was evident in his voice. He began to tug her away, moving her swiftly through the raging people.

For a minute, Eponine thought he might just be able to get them out of there before Enjolras could catch up with them.

The moment she felt the man in question wrap his hand around her forearm, she knew they were caught.

The hand spun her around, until she was inches from his face. Up close, she could see his eyes alight with the fervour of his speech. Only now, it was mixed with a dark shade of fury that frightened her to the bone.

"_What_ are you doing here?" he hissed.

The only sound that managed to escape her lips was a series of stutters and half-forgotten words. "I...um...I-"

Enjolras' vision fell to the man behind her. From his hand, she could almost feel him trembling in rage. "Grantaire! I told you to keep her there! How dare you go against me like this?!"

"Alright, relax. I kept an eye on her." Grantaire's reply was calm, but his voice held a tremor of unease.

"No, I will not relax. You deliberately went against what I told you, and you risked Eponine's health in the process." He switched his pointed glare back to her. She was so close that she could feel his breaths, hot and heavy. "And you. I gave you one simple demand. It was for your own good, Eponine! Look at this!" Raising a hand, he pointed around them to the thick crowds. "This is what I did not want you coming into today! Look- you're already looking pale!"

Eponine felt sick. Although she was sure it came from being a direct target of Enjolras' rage, rather than her actual injuries. "Enjolras- I-"

Grantaire, spotting her discomfort, moved her to the side. "Look, it's not her fault, alright? I suggested we come in."

"What?" Enjolras barked.

Eponine felt a quick rush of quilt run through her like a tide. "No-"

"I looked out for her, I swear. I kept her close."

Their leader glanced back and forth between the two. Anger seemed to radiate from his being. "I cannot even begin to-"

His sharp words were cut off by the sound of yells. Within moments, things turned to anarchy, and the air quickly filled with a collective desperation. People sprung to life once more, scattering themselves and running in all directions.

"_Cognes! Javert! _Run!" a distant voice yelled above the rest.

All three revolutionaries froze on their feet. They had expected this, the arrival of the police. However, they had not counted on them appearing so soon.

Enjolras only seemed to allow his shock to control him for a few seconds, before he snapped back into life; alert and ready.

"Grantaire, get her out of here, now!" he ordered, releasing her arm and directing her into the other man's grip. He was already moving, ready to take off in the other direction back to the rest of the _Les Amis. _

Eponine felt a panic rise inside her. "Wait, Enjolras-" She reached forward, an attempt to grab something, his coat, his arm, anything that would keep him with her. Yet, he was gone. Lost in the sea of rushing people.

"Come on," Grantaire hurried, beginning to pull her as best he could.

The people were growing restless, rough and aggressive in their desperation to escape sight of the police. As he led them through the crowds in a haste, a trying task, Eponine felt herself getting jostled and shoved from side to side. Pain raked her sore body, but she managed to bite down on her lip in order to stop from crying out.

Finally being pushed out of the waves of the crowd, she felt she could breath again. Grantaire, taking no moment to pause, pulled her from the chaos and ran down the street. Behind them, the sound of angry yells and impassioned citizens echoed through the _Bastille._

It was only when she felt herself being pushed behind a nearby building that Grantaire finally released her.

"Alright?"

She nodded, out of breath. In an effort to remain hidden, the two only peaked their heads around the corner to spy the bedlam from a distance.

"Well, I'd say this was a success," she heard him say.

She grinned to herself. Yes, it was a success. This was exactly what they had wanted to create. A statement. If this wasn't going to capture the attention of the government, then what would?

A flash of pale blue darted from the crowd, followed by an older, darker haired man.

"Gavroche!" Eponine called, following with a sharp wolf whistle.

Both Gavroche and Courfeyrac came running over, dodging the masses of panicked people.

"What are you doing here?" Courfeyrac asked with narrowed eyes.

Grantaire waved his hand in dismissal. "We've already had that inquisition. Let's go!"

The four took off, listening to the sounds of the police trying to maintain control. Eponine found every breath fuelling her worry. She wondered if the rest of the Amis would make it back to the cafe unseen.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

**Thank you for all the really great reviews. I hope you enjoy this.**

* * *

Enjolras stormed through the now empty street, his head fuming.

The rally had been a bigger success than he had anticipated, and the police intruding on the end was simply the perfect statement. The crowd had been enthusiastic, taken over by his words. His own passion had grown during the day, and he could feel their dreams of a new tomorrow coming closer and closer. It was the start of their revolution - a step nearer to creating what they had set out to.

The Amis had found the day thriving, and he had not seen one of his friends that were not yelling in a haze of promising chants and excitement.

He had, however, not counted on finding Eponine and Grantaire's faces within the sea of people.

Enjolras was not a frightening man, but most often when he gave an order, people rarely disobeyed his stern words. It shocked him to find that Eponine was an exception.

Of course, what had he expected, leaving Grantaire in her charge. Either she corrupted the poor fool, or he had decided to cause this mess on his own accord.

He sighed into his hand, rubbing it against his face as a tiredness swept through his body. The triumphs of the day had drained his energy.

After seeing that the rest of the Amis had escaped without being caught by Javert and his men, he had ran and made his way into the back streets where he had the chance to hide. The poor around him had shared him knowing glances, afraid to speak to him out of terms. Yet he knew by the respectful look in their eyes, that they believed him to be their hope. They knew that he and the Les Amis were their chance at a new life. A new France.

As he found his way onto familiar ground, a feeling of dread washed through him. At the cafe, he knew who would be waiting.

* * *

"Enjolras! Good Lord - what a success!"

"Bonjour, Enjolras! What a day!"

"We did good, did we not?"

Voices laced with excitement and joy met him as soon as he found the cafe Musain. They were waiting outside, all of them. From the tiny frame of Gavroche to the looming figure of Bahorel, he did not see one Amis out of place.

Combeferre clapped him on the shoulder. "Did you see them today, my friend? The people were hanging on your every word!"

"We did well," Enjolras gave a small smile. "You all surpassed what I expected of you. Tonight, you may drink on your joy. Enjoy the success. For tomorrow, there is much more work ahead. The time is coming."

The Amis gave a chorus of cheers, and soon began to soldier up the stairs one by one, exclaiming their recollections of the rally.

As they thinned, he caught sight of Eponine standing solemnly in the corner. She was twirling her fingers, her eyes directed at the ground. Shame seemed to consume her. Or perhaps it was fear. Even he knew that the sight of him after seeing her today could not have been frightfully comforting.

She turned, as if to walk up the stairs, but he found himself speaking her name in a strict, sharp command.

"Eponine, you stay there."

Her shoulders stiffened. Slowly, he walked towards her, and stopped only when he was standing just beside her. He could hear her short breaths, awaiting the horror of his wrath she predicted.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. The sound made his chest sink. "I didn't want to go behind your back. You left me no other choice. Please don't be angry."

He towered over her, his fists clenching at his sides. He desperately wanted to yell at her, to chastise her stupidity. However, he had not counted on her being so apologetic. Perhaps it was harsh on her, but he knew they would need to come to some mutual agreement in order to make things work. He needed her, for without her, none of what he had managed to do in the past few days would not have been possible. Yet, she needed him as well. He knew that had he not taken her in or given her the amount of care he had, she would probably be lying in a gutter somewhere.

He forced a frown to crease his features. "You make it extremely difficult for me to stay angry with you," he muttered. Eponine glanced up at him, her wide eyes sparkling with question. "Eponine, you know why I did not want you there today. It was for your own safety. You know that you...well, your company means a great deal to me. I did not want anything to happen to you that would hurt your chances of a quick recovery."

"You know I've had worse," she said with a shrug. The thought did not sooth him, but simply fuelled his discomfort.

"That doesn't make it any better." A sigh escaped his lips gently. "I understand that it may have been a little rash for me to deny you coming all together, but I could not take any chances." She was looking to the ground now, and he stooped his shoulders to catch her dark eyes in his. "You are my friend, Eponine. I only want what's best for you. I do not want you to disobey what I say, but I do not want you to be frightened of me."

"How could I? I don't think it's possible for you to be a threat."

A small smile touched his cheeks. "That's good."

"I did think you might kill us earlier, though."

"Well, you're safe. Grantaire on the other hand..."

Eponine winced, and reached out to place her hand against his arm. It was a gentle gesture, but was enough to calm his rising rage into nothing but a wave of relief. "Don't be angry with him. He was being a good friend."

"To who?" he huffed.

At his irritation, she grinned. He wondered why it was that everyone always seemed to get entertainment out of his troubles. The air grew quiet between them, turning peaceful with unspoken words. She dropped her arm, and placed her hands behind her back. She lifted herself up on her toes, and began to gently rock her frame back and forth. He watched her, enchanted by her movements. She was more akin to a mythical being than a person; carrying every innocent nature and manner of a child, but the fierce strength of a woman at once.

She was the first to break the comfortable silence. "You were amazing earlier," she gushed, sending him one of her brilliant smiles that brought out her dimples. "Everyone loved you. I think you might be at the beginnings of making history, here."

"Let's hope so. You know, despite your stupidity, I'm glad you saw us. Your opinion greatly matters to me."

"Really?" she asked. Her eyebrow quirked at the notion. "Not many people care for what I have to say."

Enjolras knitted his brow together. The thought troubled him that all her life, she had just been a face. A scheme. Her thoughts were invaluable to him, and how anyone else did not feel the same way completely astonished him. "I listen to every word of yours."

She gave him a look then, one that was mischievous and smug, and it was enough to make him wish he wasn't so open with his words around her.

"Thank you for forgiving me," she eventually said.

"Next time, I won't be so easy." He looked up at the warm sky, reddened with the beginnings of a sunset. A cool breeze rippled through his clothes, and he looked at her as if on instinct, to check if she was cold.

However, it was then that he truly noticed for the first time that day that she was different. Dressed in a dark green dress, she looked a picture of beauty. It was modest enough for her to still remain looking like her, but still was a vast improvement from her previous chosen clothing. Perhaps it was just his optimism, but he swore that her previously stick-thin frame had seemed to fill out a little. After all, he had been feeding her well the past few days, and had made sure she was eating. Perhaps his care was finally starting to take effect.

Regardless, he found himself staring. Her beauty was one that fascinated him, for she was not simply _pretty. _In her features was a past, and a history that appeared striking. It attracted him far more than he was willing to admit.

He caught himself before thinking any further. "It's getting cold. Shall we go inside?"

She nodded. As they proceeded into the cafe, he suddenly felt a small hand slip into his. In fear of losing face, he kept his gaze pointed ahead. He didn't need to look down to know that the rough, cold hands belonged to her. His mind desperately averted in order to avoid thinking of how well her hand fitted into his.

"I think half the women in Paris might be thinking of you tonight," she suddenly said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

At that, he smirked.

"Yes...but you're the only one to be in my bed."

A hand flew out and lightly hit his arm, and he heard that delightful laugh that spilt from her lips. "Enjolras!"

They both smiled and joked together as they walked up to the first floor of the cafe. At the top, they stopped. It was empty, apart from a few wondering patrons that normally occupied the space. The Amis were not at their regular table in the corner.

The plump _propriétaire _walked past them, and he caught her with his voice.

"_Madame_, Where are the Amis?" he asked. His eyes were beginning to crease with mild worry.

At the sight of the handsome young revolutionary, she spread a beaming grin across her filled face. "Ah, no worries my _beau garçon_. They are upstairs. I had some boys clear out the room for you."

"Why? We were perfectly comfortable down here."

"Well, after your success today, it didn't make much sense for you to be cramped down here, did it? Besides, you'll have a little more privacy from unwelcome eyes up there. We need to keep you hidden, now." At his stunned expression, she waved her hand. "It's no trouble. Just make great things happen, _oui_?"

Enjolras fell quiet. Of course, they were comfortable with where they were, but perhaps it was best if they were a little more concealed. Besides, on busy nights the first level became more than crowded.

A wave of appreciation ran through him. He reached forward, grasped the woman's hand, and pressed it lightly to his lips.

"_Merci, Madame_."

At the charming gesture, she let out a large chuckle, before running off to assist a drunken man who was close to falling from his seat. Enjolras and Eponine continued up the next flight of steps.

When they reached the top, the rest of the Amis were there - glasses in their hands and bottles on the table. They were laughing, delved into deep conversation with each other. The day had pleased them, and had blessed them with a joy that Enjolras had not seen in them for a long time.

Eponine released his hand when she saw Gavroche. He tried to ignore the emptiness that occupied his palm.

"Gavroche, come here," she called. The _gamin _ran over, his cheeks pink. Holding him by the shoulder, Eponine directed him away from Enjolras, who only had the ears to hear a mumbled, "I have a job for you..." before the two siblings disappeared from hearing.

Someone clapped him on the shoulder, and Enjolras turned to see a rather red-faced Combeferre. His skin was heated due to the combination of excitement and alcohol.

"Say, Enjolras, when do you suppose we rally next?" he asked, earning cheers from the rest of the Amis.

Courfeyrac called over from the other side of the room, "Soon, I hope. We have the public's eye, let us not lose it."

Enjolras nodded. "The day after tomorrow, friends. That is when we shall speak next." Despite how quickly the day had passed, he had already managed to formulate a plan in his head. "Although, we need more of a statement. Something to really catch the authorities' nerves."

"Yes! Excellent!" Joly cried from his seat.

"We shall rally outside General Lamarque's home. He's expressed his support in the matter, I'm sure he will have no protest against it."

"That's brilliant."

"Just the thing!"

Enjolras allowed himself to smile. Despite their quick transfer to a drunk manner, at least they were enthusiastic. "I will need you all to continue your work on creating awareness." He turned, beginning to address his muse. "Eponine, I will need you to-" He stopped. Eponine, and Gavroche, had disappeared from the room. His eyes darted around in disbelief. She had gone quickly. How was it that she was so skilled at disappearing? "Where has she gone?"

"I believe she left with Gavroche. She may have been going back to your place," Marius piped up. He looked less pink-faced than the others, but his eyes still shone with a drink-fuelled shine.

Enjolras let out a tired exhale. He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose whilst screwing his eyes shut. Perhaps he should get her to wear a bell. "She will be the death of me," he muttered.

When he opened his eyes next, he was met with the image of Jehan. hanging over his shoulder with one arm, and holding a wine bottle in the other. "Ah, don't worry, Enjolras. Whilst it is a vexing thing, you will soon grow accustom to the feeling."

"The feeling of what?" Although he had the feeling he already knew. The young romantic gave him a look with his glazed over eyes - one that said 'Oh, you know very well what I'm talking about'. Enjolras shrugged him off with force. "Get off me, Jehan."

Jehan did not let it bother him, and simply stumbled away, laughing and declaring, "Embrace it, fearless leader!"

Enjolras looked around and saw that there was no place for him tonight. He was neither in the mood to drink, nor to sit and watch others do so. It would be impossible to get any preparation done, and he felt that they deserved a small celebration, anyway.

"I'm going to retire for the evening," he announced.

"You're not joining us for a drink?" Joly asked, pouring himself another glass of wine.

"Not tonight. Goodnight."

He gave a small nod, and turned to the stairs. His body stopped abruptly when he spotted, leaning against the rails, propped up on a stool, was Grantaire. The drunk, who had been pressing a bottle to his lips at that very moment, straightened himself soberly at the sight of their leader.

Enjolras exhaled, and began to stride towards the steps. He stopped at the top, sending a glance to the other man.

"Just so you are aware - " He spoke in a quiet, low voice. "I am no longer angry with you. I understand that whatever happened today was a result of the both of you. It would be unjust to simply blame you for the problem." His eyes hardened with a quiet threat that only felt natural. "However, if something had happened, I would have found it extremely difficult to forgive you. Do not betray me again, understand?"

Grantaire watched him for a moment. With a trying breath, he nodded, and drew his eyes back down to his bottle. "Alright, then."

Enjolras frowned, and gestured towards the drink. "Look at yourself. Don't you have any pride?"

"Who needs pride?" Grantaire swapped his smug look for a hardened stare. With a slight tinge of bitterness in his voice, he replied, "We can't all be you."

With that, he stood up, and stumbled over to the others, leaving Enjolras with nothing but the stench of booze in the air. With that, he made his descent down the steps. At the back of his mind, a small voice questioned the meaning of Grantaire's sordid remark.

* * *

As Enjolras trudged up the stairs to his apartment, he felt a sense of pride swell inside him.

They had done well, and against all odds, they had escaped the grips of the police and struck passion into the public's hearts. It would not have gone better.

As he passed the doorways belonging to other residents, he heard a variety of sounds. Laughter, yelling, music in one and children's cries of joy in another. All signs of lives being lived of which he had no idea. Sometimes he would pass the same doorways on his way home from a late night meeting with the Les Amis. The noises created a small feeling inside his stomach, and if he didn't know that it was absolutely ridiculous, he would say it was something to do with envy.

He had been robbed of a childhood. His family had raised him to be a man of boundaries and of duty; avoid of love and tenderness. He knew no sounds of happiness or sadness, all he knew was a mask. When he was young, he sometimes found himself wondering if he would ever have a normal life. One with love, and a real home, or even just a friendly face.

However, he knew he had a purpose. _Patria_ had kept his heart beating and his soul alive. That was all that mattered.

As he entered his room, he paused at the sight that greeted him.

Eponine, who slept as if she were still sitting, was slumped over in the chair at the table. Beneath her, a book lay opened. Her head was cradled in her hand, and her face was stilled in a content pose of rest.

The sight pulled at the corner of his lips. He admired her apt goals at learning. She was keen, and yearned for a better lifestyle.

He walked over, and gently picked her up in his arms. She mumbled as he lifted her, and shifted her body closer to his chest. Pausing in his movements, he took a moment to relish the feeling.

"Hmm...sleeping..." Came a tired sigh from below.

"Shh."

With ease, he lifted the sheets and tucked her into the bed. As much as his stiff body longed for his own mattress, he found that he did not care. He would have rather seen her sleeping in his place, rather than kick her into someplace much more uncomfortable.

He went to kicking his own shoes off, and untying his cravat. Sleep called to him, and he felt his eyes begin to feel heavy. One he had placed himself as comfortably as he could on the settee, he spent his last few moments of consciousness lending an ear to the sounds around them.

A thought struck him. The lives of those in the building seemed to have their own songs. Even the people on the streets moved to chanting, sorrowful anthems. Perhaps in his life, when the world seemed silent, he had just simply neglected to be patient. Now he had Eponine, who's life was a sweet, enigmatic melody that had the effect of a hymn. In all his interest to the sounds around them, perhaps he had just forgotten to think about how they sounded together.

Maybe they had their own song; quiet and simple, but enough to drive his heart wild with life.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

**Thank you very much for all the reviews you take the time to post. They are really appreciated and loved. Sorry about the wait for this, but I hope you enjoy.**

**Things might take a ...familiar twist in events next chapter.**

* * *

The next morning, an incident occurred.

Now, it must be noted that this was not an incident caused my meticulous design, nor was it coincidence.

It was simply due to one person, hoping to find another in a particular place.

Unfortunately, Enjolras happened to be the mean that was being searched for.

It happened in the mid-morning, when the sky had reached the colour of spring water in a stream, and the air was crisp and cooly refreshing. Down at the Rue Saint-Denis, there was an odd sight that caught the eye of many a passer-by.

It was the sight of three, tall, rather well-looking young men playing with a handful of the dirt caked children from the streets. Most of these people recognised these men. They knew them from the day before, and remembered their faces as the young students who had promised words of equality and liberty for all.

Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Bahorel were playing tag with Gavroche and his friends. In their glee, they almost appeared as boys themselves. Their pink faces and wide grins gave no suggestion as to the troubles that surrounded them, and quite frankly, none seemed to care.

Marius had escorted a very hung over Grantaire around the road, speaking with the poor and getting to know them as one would do a friend.

Enjolras had seated himself on the fountain edge, beside Eponine. The two talked lightly, although the conversation was mostly hidden between the warm smiles and trickles of laugher that they shared. Anyone simply glancing their way would assume that they were lovers - a strange pair of lovers at that.

Given the events of the previous day, Enjolras only thought it fair to let Eponine outside, as long as she was under their watchful eyes.

"I wish I had known you as a child," Eponine grinned as she watched the other children play.

"I'm afraid I was not much fun as a child."

"That's exactly why. I would have taught you to have fun. We could have been great friends."

Enjolras let his lips turn upwards at the remark. "Just as you are teaching me now?"

Her eyes flickered towards his, shimmering with excitement and a joy that never seemed to fade. "Exactly!" She turned her eyes towards the playing children, and brushed her hands against her skirt. "I'll be back."

With a brush of air and a quick movement, she was up and moving from the fountain. He watched her intently as she walked towards Gavroche, where she bent down and began speaking.

Deciding to stretch his legs, he stood and began to walk around the edge of the fountain, glancing in at the murky water that lay inside.

Once, he remembered people used to throw sous into the water, a concept that meant your wishes would come true. Now, it was stripped bare, for even the beggars of the street became desperate enough to climb into the fountain and dig them out.

There was a tingling of excitement in the back of his mind. Tomorrow they would rally outside Lamarque's home. He hoped he would get the chance to speak to the man in person perhaps.

After that, who knew where their course would take them. With the General's support, they could get even closer to unravelling the Royalists and their prejudiced views. One step closer to their dream of a republic. The very idea practically made him tremble with anticipation.

The sound of a carriage stopping behind him caused Enjolras start. As he listened to the sound of the door being opened, he turned, curious about who would stop beside him like this.

When he turned, he froze, feeling as though he had been slapped around the face.

He was met with a face of a man that he had long neglected to think about. It startled him so, that he almost believed he might fall into the water behind.

A terrible mixture of confusion, resentment, and fear stirred within him at the figure before him.

The man was his father.

Wearing a scowling mask, and standing tall with a façade of power, the very image made Enjolras cringe with repulsion.

His father was a powerful man, long in the face and pale in the eyes. Age had been kind to him, and to most of the wealthy married women in the neighbouring estates, he was quite the catch. Quite the most tragic part of all, was despite his long-term marriage with Enjolras' mother, he was never shy of sharing a frequent flirtation. Enjolras remembered during his younger years, they managed to avoid it growing into quite the scandal.

His stare was sharp, his eyes grey, and his face seemed to have set in an expression that looked as if the man had never smiled once. Even at the sight of his son, whom he had been distanced from for many months now, he barely cracked the stone features on his face.

"Son." His voice was just as ever; deep in the throat and slow with the expression.

"…Father." Enjolras remembered himself, and sucked his jaw in tightly. He gave a small bow. "Pleasant ride?"

The older man grimaced. In certain ways, both father and son were rather alike. They had the same indifference, the same handsome features that portrayed strength and superiority. "Not particularly. You know how I feel about travelling to these parts."

"Well, I appreciate your journey out to visit," Enjolras replied, forcing a wry smile onto his face. It did not touch his cheeks. "Is mother well?"

The mention of his wife did not contort his face. Not even a twitch of the mouth. Enjolras wondered if perhaps the Amis were to see his father, a real man of stone, perhaps they would chose to dispose of his 'marble man' nickname.

"Quite," the older man replied stoically. He glanced around him, and his nose seemed to upturn at the sight of the impoverished children playing in the street. Enjolras at that moment wished the ground would cave in and swallow him. That would be a lesser pain than this.

"I suppose your poor attempt at small talk means that you know why I am here."

The younger Enjolras withheld a sigh. "I have a theory, yes."

"Well then, I also suppose you know I am not happy. Not in the least."

"I am not surprised."

A grimace creased his father's mouth. His eyes seemed to darken with a wave of something sorrowful. A regret almost, a half hatred for the son he never wished to have. "I suggest you get in the carriage without making a scene," he said. His voice carried a warning tone.

Enjolras slowly turned his head over his shoulder.

There was no sign of Eponine, nor the other Amis. Gavroche and his friends had disappeared also. A quiet part of him wished that they had left, and would rather them not see him leave with his father. They knew of his tiring relationship with the man, and wanted to spare them the concern that might arise.

However, he knew just as well, that they were most likely watching from an unseen point; awaiting to see the show begin.

"Are you listening, boy?" A snap of his father's deep voice clawed him from his thoughts.

Enjolras turned and returned to his mask of indifference. His aim was clear, and set in stone. He would not bow to his father's obvious cruelty. He was a man now, and his own man at that.

Like any respectable human being, he would give his father the time he required, and would hear what he had to say. He would not, however, let him get the best of his wayward child.

Like turning a back to something, Enjolras swapped his expression into a plastered smile that was so forged, it almost pained him. "Yes, father. After you."

* * *

The journey to his old home had been long winded, and extremely silent.

The jolts of the wheels against the road became a rhythmic, and almost comforting sound. In times of dire desperation, one often calls for even the simplest of things to calm down.

Entering his childhood home brought a shadow upon the younger Enjolras. It was filled with darkness, and maintained that haunting feeling where one felt watched.

If there was one thing that he remembered so clearly, it was the silence. The house was not a home. It was void of love and expression and everything a family should have. Instead, the walls seemed to tower over him, family portraits of past ancestors watching over him in judgement.

The curtains were rarely opened. The light was given by artificial sources from within, creating a terrible feeling of impending doom.

Enjolras strode with the false confidence of any man with a premonition. He knew exactly what his father were to say, for no doubt the latest gossip among the higher classes had revolved around the stories of students going rouge and staging rallies. He followed his father slowly down the seeping corridors, as if he had been taken back to days of his boyhood, in which he would find himself being escorted to his father's study for a scolding.

His breaths were deep inhales to steady himself. He would not be badgered into submission.

One maid, who had been occupied with the task of dusting one precious vase in the hall, paused momentarily at the sight of the familiar boy, now a man. He did not recognise her, but smiled.

The gesture seemed to frighten her more than warm her, and she quickly ducked her head to resume her work.

Enjolras soon found himself seated in the study; a large room with no windows. Even the shadows could not be found here. Books gathered dust on the shelves, and the air was thickened with years of withheld anxiety and shared battles.

He sat himself in the seat opposite his father, who in turn remained standing.

Neither spoke for a considerable amount of time. The sound of the corner clock ticking quietly was calming to Enjolras. Even the simplest of sounds can sooth the mind.

When his father spoke, it was in a deep, slightly roughened voice that could have held the words of a officer or politician.

"It appears you have caught yourself in quite a mess." The words were bitter, and held a tone of distain for his own child. "Latimer, my errand boy, was in passing of a rally yesterday. He stopped to hear the commotion. It was lead by students, evidentially. Staging some sort of uprising among the poor."

Although he had been pacing until then, the older man turned and caught his son's eyes with an icy glare. It was a look that would strike any man into a motion of entrapment.

"He recognised you," he said slowly. "Ran back to tell me. Tell me, if he were to recognise you, who else do you suppose saw? Hm?"

Enjolras found himself struggling to withhold a smug grin. "Half of Paris, possibly."

The remark only further creased the frown in the older man's face. "Do _not_ look so proud of yourself."

"Well, what can I say? What's done is done, I cannot change the past."

"No, but to make up for your stupidity, you will change your future." He stopped for a few moments, and took to fiddling with the brass buttons on his jacket in thought. It was a habit that Enjolras had remembered his father conform to during his childhood years. It was a habit of deep, often dark consideration.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a blunt instrument against the younger man. "You are to stop with this rebellion nonsense, and return home. I have enough contacts to prevent the authorities from catching wind of your place in these things. We can stop this now in order to prevent any further damage to the family name."

Enjolras glowered. Whilst his father was resolute, his was also. He knew how to play the games that rich men played with each other.

It was a battle of words and wit, and he certainly had enough to withstand the man before him.

"That won't be necessary, father."

The other man looked up from the ground, his eyes sharp. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your offer is well meaning but I will not require your assistance. I am not returning home, nor am I to give up my place in the revolution."

There was a threat that appeared in the air then. The words lessened a weight from Enjolras' shoulders. Not simply now during the peak of revolution, but throughout his entire life he had needed to fight his place.

His father had not expected it, and in turn grew cold in his standing place. "Think on your words, boy."

Enjolras, feeling a sense of strength ripple through him, rose from his seat. "I am not simply taking part, I am leading them. Along with my comrades. We plan to bring about a new change for France and it's people."

"_We_ are the people of France," the older Enjolras replied bitterly.

"What of those who live on the streets? Without food or water, and those to die every minute from a tragic life?"

"I do not understand why they are your concern. Why you feel you need to speak for those wretched-"

"If I don't, then who will?" came a snapping reply.

The sound of the clock in the corner seemed to echo now with such tremor, such loudness, that it almost cracked the ears of both the man in the room.

His father spoke first, a voice practically trembling with unspoken rage. "Think of your life on the line. Your reputation. You will be involving yourself with the scum of the streets, and for what? To feel like a man? You are committing treason."

"Then send for the police right now," the younger man challenged with a stone cold stare. There was nothing on his face but unwavering bravery. "I am not going anywhere, and you could have them here in three minutes. Maybe two."

It was something his father could not match. After a moment of consideration, the man only managed to reply with a sordid, "You have responsibilities to this family, whether you like it or not, Olivier."

Enjolras withheld a hiss at the sound of his name. It was another part of his life he had long left behind since his separation from his family.

"I am aware of that, _father,_" he bit out. "However, I am a man now, and have been for a long time. It is not simply my ability to create my own path, it is my right. I chose to live a different life than one you laid out for me. If you cannot accept that as my father, then please, respect it as a fellow man."

His father, in all his dismissal, scoffed. The sound cut through the younger Enjolras like a knife. "A man, you say? You are no man - a real man lives up to his duty. He does not exile himself and get involved with troublesome boys." His grey, loveless eyes narrowed. "No, I will not accept that. You are to come home immediately. A few more years and we'll have smoothed your impulsive nature out, and perhaps be able to get you a real job. A wife too, maybe."

Enjolras was quickly torn. Challenged between his dedication to his friends and the instinct to defend them, and his obligation to respect his father and maintain some pride in his words.

But among this, there was a certainty. An affirming sense of being, which seemed to lay out his life past and present before his eyes.

This was his future - to lead the revolution and change the social order in which men and women died needlessly. That was his path, and no amount of riches or reputation could keep him from it.

It was then that he straightened himself. With his hands clenched reassuringly by his side, and his face set in stone to match his father's infamous indifferent, Enjolras faced him standing tall and proud.

"I am no longer yours to 'smooth out'. You lost that right at my birth. You are, and have never been, a father to me."

It was as if someone had slapped the old man around the face. A quick twist of fury seemed to run across his face. "You grew up with privileges, boy. You have opportunities to make something great of yourself, and this is how you repay me?"

"I grew up in a household where everyone was too afraid to express love or feeling. All these riches and materials are worth less than nothing if you have no warmth in your heart," Enjolras replied bitterly. Should someone have dropped a pin in the room, it would have been heard.

"You speak out of place."

"No, I don't. This is my duty, to speak for those who cannot. It's dangerous, yes. Perhaps it will be my end sooner than you think, but I am going to speak for the people. I will make France a better place, or die trying."

His father, who up until that point, had been admirably fighting his case, fell silent. It may have been out of shock, distain, or even perhaps in awe at the strength at which his own son had defended himself. Either way, he chose to say nothing more.

Enjolras held himself together, not even daring to breath. With a small gesture that portrayed nothing but mockery and deep sarcasm, he bowed to his father. He then turned on his heel and left the room.

He did not even glance that the stunned man as he shut the door.

At the other side, he released a sigh.

It can only be said that for the first time in his life, Enjolras felt truly free.

He resumed a walk down the long hallway, giving a brief thought to his plans for the evening.

The Amis would have to discuss plans for a battle. They had connections, it was simply a matter of readying them and creating a starting plan.

In the deep recesses of his mind, he already had the faint beginnings of a plan; formulating and rippling together like a puzzle starting to piece.

As he neared the end of the hall, a door opened, and a woman stepped out from the darkness.

At the sight of the slightly frail woman, Enjolras froze in recognition.

He swallowed. "...Good day, mother."

The woman looked up, and almost started.

How long had it been? Six months? Seven, perhaps?

She moved forward slightly, a slow and delicate movement.

His mother was a kind woman. She might have once been beautiful. With blonde curls and a still young face, she had the echos of what may have been a pretty youth. Yet years of a loveless marriage and the struggles of upholding their family image had taken it's toll, and had sucked every last essence of youth and spirit from her.

Even behind her bright blue eyes laid cold pools of emptiness. There was a sadness in her smile.

"Olivier," she said, her voice as soft and wistful as he remembered. She made no move to embrace him as any other mother would to a child. He wondered if she perhaps feared him by association to the man in the study. "Things are well?"

"Yes mother. How are you?"

"Quite alright. …Are you comfortable? Eating well?"

Enjolras detested the small talk. Nothing in their house was genuine. "Yes."

"Good." He caught a twitch in her features. It was a movement akin to a longing, perhaps a sadness if he really thought about it. "Such a handsome boy. I do hope you bring me some grandchildren to play with one day." When he did not reply, she gave a small shrug, and began to move. "…Well, have a good afternoon. I hope you see you soon."

He raised his hand to stop her. "Mother, I-" He frowned. The words escaped him.

It was not an uncommon thing to know about his mother - she had spent her life always wishing things had been different for herself. It could be seen in her eyes and in her meek smile. Under other circumstances, she might have been a loving wife if in the company of a good husband. Or a joyful mother, who played in the garden with her children and picked flowers in the Spring. But she was not. She never had that chance in life, and nor would she ever. Enjolras knew she loved him in a strange, instinctive, hopeful sense. Yet he always knew she looked at him oddly. She saw him as the empty child who was cursed with his father's indifference, and her own entrapment.

Standing before her now, he knew he could not say that they might see each other again. Now was the time to make amends with the woman.

"…I just want you to know that I am grateful," he managed.

Her eyes flickered in confusion. "For what, darling?"

The term of endearment sounded strange being said in such a place lacking of affection.

"For you. Trying your best with me. ...You are a good woman."

In her eyes, a light shimmered. It was Life; dying as a flame from a candle might in the breeze. Upon seeing it, Enjolras felt a need. Although he would need to be quick about it.

Stepping forward, he wrapped his arms around her and cautiously placed his chin against her shoulder. It was a gesture he had seen many times before exchanged between mothers and children. He thought it appropriate.

She stiffened underneath him, not used to the strange act of affection.

"What are you doing?" she breathed, with as much shock as if he had whipped out a pistol at her head.

Yet Enjolras held his place, and with a solemn mumble said, "I only wish things had been different for you."

A few blank moments passed, and he began to pull back. However, he suddenly felt her arms wrap around him in return, and a hand reached up to gently stroke the back of his head. The feeling was not unpleasant, he thought.

It was as if the act of embracing were forbidden in their own home. They remained like that only for a while after, and both pulled back with the same feeling of secrecy, as if afraid they would be caught.

He caught her face, which was now creased in the expression of concern. Certainly this behaviour was not normal, and she had very well caught onto that fact.

"Are you alright?" she questioned.

He nodded. "Yes. It's just…You never quite know what is to come. I am just not sure when the next time we might meet be. I just want you to understand how I feel."

He chose not to tell her of his plans with the Les Amis. If she already knew about the rally (and he suspected she was not as close with his father as to be aware of this information), then she did not chose to say anything. Explaining now would only confuse her, and perhaps upset her.

After all, how does one tell a mother that their child is preparing to enter a battlefield?

She accepted that was all he said. With a subdued glance from side to side, she said something that Enjolras had never once heard from anyone before.

"I am glad you are the way you are." A guilt flashed through her features, and she gently reached up to softly touch his cheek. "I'm sorry."

And with that, she sent him one last sad smile. He watched as he departed, until he was left alone in the long corridor which seemed to consume him with darkness.

He did not stay any longer after that.

* * *

Enjolras decided to take the long way home.

The cooling air felt nice against his skin, and the sounds of the night life filled his ears in a soothing manner.

He walked with the air that was only shared among men who truly felt free.

Knowing he had at long last separated himself from any connection with his father's strict household, he felt a great weight being lifted from his shoulders.

Now his life was Revolution.

He listened to the chime of distant bells. The chorus of drunken voices singing aloud, booming through the streets. These were the sounds of the city, and they were as familiar to him as breathing itself.

When he reached his building, the amber glow of candlelight from the windows presented a homely warmth. This was his solace, and he was glad for such a place to return to.

He climbed the stairs with ease, feeling as if he could fly with such feeling of relief.

As he opened the door to his own room, he was met with a sight.

Eponine, paused in what appeared to be pacing. Her hands were rung together in nerves, and she worried her lower lip under her teeth. She was a picture of confusion and anxiety, and yet, the sight was all the more welcoming to him.

She barely noticed him enter, only being pulled out of her trance when he shut the door behind him. She turned her head like a mouse trapped in a corner. At the sight of him, her eyes widened and a sharp breath was pushed from her lips.

"Enjolras!" she cried. Seconds later, she was inches away from him, her hands grasping tightly against his arms and her eyes frantically searching his face for answers. She went on into a fit of questions, not once stopping for breath.

"I was so worried! We watched you getting into that carriage with that awful looking man and- Oh, Enjolras, Marius said it was your father! I guessed he was going to talk to you about yesterday! I thought he'd never let you leave, or perhaps he'd called the police on his own son- I came back here and waited all afternoon- Are you alright? Say something!"

Placing his hands on her petite shoulders, he silenced her.

"I am fine, Eponine." It was perhaps the first time in his life that he had meant the words so clear.

Although her worry barely subsided. Instead, she became quiet, her brow furrowed. "...What did he say to you?"

"He tried to convince me to give up our plans and forget it all. I said no, and so I left him once and for all." He gave her shoulder a gentle pat, of reassurance, and gratitude. "I have made my choice, and it is here. There is nothing more to be said."

"You look pale."

Yes, he did feel rather shaken. Nothing in the world could have prepared him for the events of the day. "I just wasn't expecting it, that's all." To calm her anxiety, he forced a small smile. "I truly feel much better. There's no need to worry. How are you feeling?"

"Hardly any soreness today. Joly was very happy with everything."

"That's good."

A moment passed in silence before Eponine seemed to spring back into life. Her eyes shone, and she released his arms to clasp her hands together. "I got you something. A present."

"What is it?"

She rolled her eyes, and commenced to pull him across the room and towards his regular seat at the table. "Well sit down, and you'll see!"

She disappeared behind him, yet he still heard the small sounds of her feet across the floor. The excitement in her voice brought life back into him, and at once he was glad that this was where he had to return. He wondered how strange it was that this was so much more of a home than the house he had just come from.

When Eponine reappeared into his sight, she placed down a small package of brown paper before him, before taking her seat at his side.

He glanced at it for a moment, before going to unwrap. He glanced at Eponine, who's chin was held up by her hands as she watched in anticipation.

He was not sure of what he had expected. However, as he tore away the paper, it was certainly contrary to anything he had in his mind.

A simple cut of red fabric fell to the table. He took it in his hands.

Time and time again his friends had joked about his indifference to emotion. Emotion and feeling. There were few things, perhaps more before Eponine had jumped into his world, that stirred him. This, however, brought about a strange sensation.

The fabric was fire and heat. It was a scarlet display of a promise, something wonderful that could not be explained in his own words. It stood for many things for Enjolras; passion and justice. It stood for the revolution of which he had now completely devoted himself to. It was Eponine also, bold and bright.

He found himself simply staring at it in his hands for quite a while, before he looked up at Eponine.

"Where did you get th-" The words died in his mouth. Of course, he knew she did not have a sous to her name, and would not be able to afford such fine material. However, she intended it as a gift, and every instinct shunned his rudeness at the question. So he remained silent.

She seemed to understand, and went to explaining in a delicate voice. "I saw it yesterday, and it reminded me of you. And the revolution, of course. I simply had to get it. I sent Gavroche down early this morning and I just got it back a few hours ago." Uncertainty twisted her features, but she attempted to hide it with reason. "I stole the money. It wasn't expensive, though, I swear. And I made sure the man I took it from was rather rich looking."

At least she had some good morale. He allowed his lips to quirk at that. "Ah, well, then I cannot really scould you for that."

She smiled, and after a few beats, rose from her seat. She went to the kitchenette to pour some water for the both of them. Enjolras watched her in fascination.

There and then, he realised he had made the right decision. Disregarding all his past, his paved life and his family name, he had chosen to live for the people and to change society for the better. With a battle in the eery vision of the near future, he was prepared to lay down his life for the greater good. For the people like Eponine, who had heart, feelings, and a need to live.

A strange impulse guided him. Before he was even aware, he was on his feet and moving towards her.

He felt her stiffen under his touch, not of repulsion, but of confusion. Hearing her small, short breaths, he stooped and kissed her atop the head. The gesture was endearing, and he held his lips to her head for a few moments before he found cause to pull back.

"Thank you, 'Ponine," he said, his voice a gentle breath.

He suddenly realised how strange it was. How much the feeling of her frame enveloped inside his arms felt so natural. So right.

He also noted that she made no moves to pull away. No, instead, she simply leaned into his embrace.

Neither one found it easy to pull apart, but neither one said anything about it. Eponine simply went back to pouring them both water, and Enjolras returned to his nightly work over his papers.

But there was a sense of togetherness that lingered between them. A feeling of friendship that both knew they needed, but had never had before.

It was just the thing they needed in order to hold themselves together through the days that followed.


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

**I am so so so sorry for the lack of update in, what, three weeks? Or something ridiculous like that. Life has been super busy around here, but summer is soon, meaning I will have much more time to actually sit down and finish a chapter. Please, please enjoy, and I am again sorry for the wait. I have received some absolutely lovely messages and reviews from you all, and I appreciate every single one of them. **

* * *

Eponine watched the rally outside Lamarque's house with pride stirring in her heart.

The Amis energised the crowd that had grown almost twice as big as the last. It was near impossible that the rest of Paris could not hear their chants and cries of restless voices that thrived on promises of equality and freedom.

Enjolras had been once again at his best. With Marius leading the people beside him, it was an event worth the eyes of every person that could see.

When the police had decided to intervene, they had dispersed quickly, splitting up into their planned positions. When Eponine met Enjolras, it was two streets down just ten minutes away. He was waiting for her by a corner with Marius and Jehan.

He appeared before her with excited eyes and panting breaths, still reliving the power of his own words.

"Sorry I'm late, Sir," Eponine grinned, pairing her greeting with a slightly wobbly curtsey. "There was quite the scene at Lamarque's house. A rally, I believe."

Enjolras allowed one of his magnificent smiles spread subtly across his lips. "Oh? Probably some of those dastardly workers trying to raise their wages."

"Actually, I believe it was a group of foolhardy students and their leader."

"I see. Probably a fine young man with a strong mind for revolution."

"Actually, he seemed like a reckless hooligan with a thirst for trouble," she smirked.

Enjolras pressed his hand against her shoulder, allowing a quiet note of laugher to fall from his lips. It was a rare, but beautiful sound that lifted Eponine's heart from her chest at the very sound.

"Alright then," he breathed. "Shall we head back? The guards will be searching the streets soon." He turned to nod his head towards their waiting friends. "We should make haste."

"Enjolras-" she said, brushing her hand slightly against his arm to grasp his attention. He turned to her with sharp blue eyes, attentive, and suddenly hanging on her every word. "I'll be away for the rest of the afternoon. I'll meet you at the café later, yes?"

He did not protest with her like she assumed he would. Instead, his eyes only narrowed. "Where are you going?"

"I must see my parents." Upon seeing the flicker of surprise across his face, she explained. Although she wondered if perhaps she was convincing herself more than him. "I should tell them I'm alright. I'm not going back to them. But I'm no coward. I'm going to tell them that myself."

Enjolras appeared unsettled at the concept. Yet he said nothing to prevent her from doing so. "Do you want me to come with you?" he asked, stooping his head low as to speak to her in a quiet, warm voice that soothed her instantly.

"No. You have things to do. I can handle myself." Her brown eyes flicked to his in firm resolution. Something inside her had been forming in the previous few days. Something coming together. Almost a feeling of decision - complete and utter understanding of what she should do next. It was more than she'd ever known in her entire life. "You watch me. I'll leave them, find myself a respectable job, and earn my own wages. I'll be able to rent my own room, pay for my own food."

Her words caused a corner of his lips to turn upwards. Enjolras wore a mixture of amusement, and even something akin to pride on his features. "You don't have to worry about that, Eponine. You're a friend in need. You are welcome to stay with me until you are on your feet."

He spoke with a sincerity, a deep truth that touched her more than anything else. He cared for her, she knew it. He was a true friend, something that she had never had before. Such thoughts gave her the strength to go ahead with what needed to be done. She smiled, and her large eyes shone with content happiness. "You are kind, Monsieur."

Whilst her confidence was very much evident, Enjolras clearly did not feel the same way. He attempted the same grin as she, but ended up simply staring in a strict manner of concern. "I'll expect you no later than six this evening," he warned, his voice in that stony determination that she had heard many times before. "If you are, I'll send someone out to look for you."

She rolled her eyes, but accepted his terms. It was the best she would get out of him, she knew. "Very well."

As she turned, she felt his hand brush the bare skin of her arm. She froze on instinct at the feeling. Many joked about his strange exterior of seriousness; his coldness of speech and thought. But he was hardly cold. No, not at all. They would never know how much he burned her. How the feeling of his skin against hers set her alright in every way possible. As she caught his face, it was twisted into a grim expression. He did not want to let her leave, but could not find the heart to prevent her from doing so. The result was a tight lipped portrayal of withheld worry.

"Be safe," was what he said. His voice was low, quiet enough for her to hear without the ears of strangers listening in.

She sent him a resolute nod. "You too."

Without another word, she turned and slipped into the crowd bustling the busy street. Even without turning, she could still feel his eyes burning into her back.

* * *

Eponine did not directly go to her parent's house.

For the first time in a while, she simply decided to walk around the backstreets in a thoughtful daze.

She continually told herself that it was _not _because she was trying to prevent herself from confronting her family. At least, she was trying to tell herself that.

For the following few hours, she found herself simply observing the living world around her. The people in market trying to sell of stale bread at stupid prices. Children running around to the dismay of their worrying mothers. There was a hole world around her that barely knew she existed.

By the time she had at long last made her way back around to her familiar street, it was late afternoon. The sky was turning a dark purple, and clouds were beginning to shadow the horizon.

She found her old building quickly, and the feeling of dread began to fill up inside her. She knew that it was best to get it over and done with. After all, should she be any later, she might miss the Amis' meeting. Enjolras might begin to wonder where she had got to.

When she snuck in the building, not so distant memories began to wash over her. Cold, rainy nights when she tried to sneak in after a poor day of collection. Knowing what torment was waiting for her up the stairs.

As she walked down the old hallway, she looked into the doorways. Since she left, less and less people now occupied the rooms. Was this how bad things had got?

When she reached her own door, it was slightly ajar. Pressing her fingers lightly against the wood, she took a quiet inhale of breath.

She gently pushed the door open.

It was just as she left it. There were often times when one would return to things that grew into worse condition. Although Eponine knew that there were very few ways in which her home could get worse. It was more a hole than a room, where darkness grew over light. The air was thick with unmentionable stenches, and it was hard to breath with all the dust and dirt.

On the floor, blankets and pillows that were probably best left unused. One could almost hear the lice jumping from one place to the other.

Where there once was a fireplace lay a collection of old tools. Bits of broken piping and strange, dangerous looking instruments with dark red stains that could not be removed. Her father's collection.

Upon her entry, the floorboards screeched under her feet. A head shot up from in front of the window. Dark eyes and heavy lids narrowed at her appearance.

"_Maman,_" Eponine greeted. She hated the way she still remembered the darkness. She hated the way it still remembered her, clinging to her and welcoming her home like an old friend.

Madame Thenardier glanced at her for a few moments, then turned her attention back towards her sewing.

"Oh, look who it is," she huffed. Blood stained her fingertips in the many places where she had mislaid the rusty needle. "No word? No letters? How do you think we've been coping in your absence, hmm?" Her head shot up once more. Her dark eyes darted around her daughter's figure. Judging. Observing. The true nature of a person in deep poverty. Always aware of their surroundings and the people around them. When she spoke, it was with a rough voice that sounded harsh to the ears. "Your father's not happy."

Eponine could do nothing but withhold a shrug. After all, she was not surprised that her father was probably not pleased with her disappearance. Without her, any money that they could have been earning had decreased.

As she opened her mouth to speak, another voice, a much darker one, cut through the quiet like a knife. It was not simply a voice - it was more a purr. The language of conmen and thieves alike. The voice of a liar.

"No, he's not," the voice said. Eponine knew very well who it belonged to. She looked to her side, where a shadow covered a corner so well, she had hardly noticed the tall figure lurking in the corner. Stepping forward into the sharp cut of moonlight falling through the broken glass, Eponine met eyes with her father. He regarded her like a dog, his lips curling into a wry smile that ached with cruelness. "Well, finally decided to turn up after your little holiday, yes?"

She should have known he'd try and make her feel guilty towards her disappearance. However, Eponine remembered herself, and why she was there. She straightened her back and stood tall.

"It wasn't a holiday," she retorted in a strong voice. "I'll have you know that I've been injured. Unable to leave bed."

"Who's bed, might I ask?" Monsieur Thenardier grinned in return. He stepped forward, twisting his long, bony fingers together in anticipation. "Oh, perhaps you have been thinking of us, after all. Tell us, Ep. Who is he?"

At this, her mother perked her head up once more. She spoke across the room, "Tell us you bagged a rich one. We're running on empty, here."

Monsieur Thenardier looked towards his wife, bearing his teeth in a smile. He walked towards her and jolted her shoulder with his elbow in a friendly manner of joking. "Ah, it'll be a rich one. She's not the prettiest on the street but the men certainly don't neglect to look, ha!"

Eponine shivered. "I'm not on a job," she sharply bit out. "A friend has been caring for me."

At the mention of the idea that she would not be on 'a job' with Enjolras, her father's eyes narrowed dangerously close.

"Well, what do you intend to get out of him? Don't tell me you're so selfish as to neglect to think of your poor family?"

Eponine did not answer. Instead, she turned and began to walk about the room. "Where is Alzema?" she questioned, taking notice of the cobweb walls.

Her mother's now stiffened form watched her move around the small room like a hawk. "Now she _is_ on a job. Working. Earning. Like you used to in your prime." She spat the words out like they tasted bad.

Eponine's eyes were working up the long stretches of cracked wood up the panes, when she felt a hand tugging her to turn around. She spun, coming face to face with her father's wild eyes. She was not afraid, not in the least. The man had taught her everything she knew after all.

"Why are you here then?" he spat. "Your friend work out how much of a no good you really are?"

She shrugged her arm out of his grasp and met his eyes with a cold stare. "I'm here to say goodbye, Papa. I'm leaving, and I'm not planning on coming back."

"Why's that, then?"

"I've found a way out." Eponine tore her glare away from her father's to stare out the window. Below them, the nightlights of Paris were beginning to be set. They lighted the streets, almost taunting the darkened room with a hopeless ambition. 'This is what you could have,' they said. Light, and life, and everything that seemed out of reach in such a pitiful place as this. "I have friends now. A family. People who care for my well-being. Gavroche's, too. Or do you not remember your own son?"

"You're not leaving us now, girl. You can't betray the family name like this."

"Which family name? Thenardier? Jondrette? Or one of the many others we've used?"

As he leaned in, she could feel the hot breaths tainted with alcohol on his breath. "You've got some nerve. Coming in here and thinking yourself better than us," he spat.

Eponine felt her frown deepen. When she spoke, her voice rippled into a growl that she had not needed to use in what seemed like forever. She felt her insides hardening in that instinctive manner of a true street dweller. "Not better. Luckier. I will not be sold. Or bribed. I'm not your dog, or your slave."

A sharp sound of skin against skin broke the walls of the room. Eponine stumbled back as she felt a large hand collide with her face. She exhaled, feeling the hot blood already rush to her cheek in a familiar sensation.

She snapped her head towards her father, who's darkened eyes were boring into her, burning through her skin.

"If you leave, you ain't welcome back no more," he hissed. "Don't you dare walk through that door when you're starving and freezing to death."

Despite the harsh stinging sensation on her cheek, Eponine kept herself straightened tall. She was no longer to be submissive to her family's stupid schemes. With an affirmative glare, she turned, and made for the door. As she reached the threshold of her poor, forlorn life, she looked over to the two figures in the shadows.

"Say goodbye to Alzema for me. Maybe she'll have the sense to leave too," she said. She slammed the door behind her as she left.

As she quickly made her way down the hall, she felt her back shudder with an exhale.

It was over. Now she could be free.

As soon as she stepped out into the street, she took in a large gulp of air to steady herself. For years she had dreamed of having the chance to leave that awful place. Did it make her selfish? Perhaps. But with what had happened to her during her life, maybe she deserved a little something for herself.

Her feet began to walk before her mind to process the movement. She knew where she was going even before she thought about it.

As she walked, she listened to the faint sounds of the city. Happy families, serenading lovers, people with lives worth living. Her stomach stirred, knowing that she had just paved the way for herself to a live like this. She now had something she never had before. A chance.

A rusty cough from the shadows caused her to spin on her heel. Her hands fisted on instinct, ready to defend herself. Not that she was worth robbing, anyway.

But to her relief (only for a moment, since the face itself caused a new dismay), the man who stepped out from the alley was none other than Montparnasse. He had not changed much since they had last met. He was still attempting to withhold his strange, charismatic charm. His top hat, stolen from a visiting English aristocrat, had new patches, and his clothes had darkened more with dirt. Even his face, which one contained a boyish charm, had aged decades in simply weeks.

Despite her familiarity, she did not relax her stance right away. Montparnasse was a familiar, but it did not necessarily mean she had to trust him right away.

As he stepped out, he examined her with roaming eyes. He spoke in a rough, deepened voice. "Well, 'ello, Ep. Long time no see."

Eponine waved him away with her hand. She knew just as well what it was he was after. "Not tonight, 'Parnasse."

"Not tonight? When, then? It's been a long time." As he stepped closer, she felt his hand snake around her waist, hidden in the shadows. "And this cold night should not pass lonely..."

Giving him a gentle shove, she stepped away. "I mean it," she firmly chided.

Letting a dark chuckle ripple from his lips, Montparnasse seemed to grasp her message and pace a few steps ahead of her. "Alright then. How about a quick pick, just for old time's sake? Saw an old gentleman passing down a few streets over. Unaccompanied. Well-off. Easy pickings."

"Count me out." Her new found confidence seemed to fuel her denial, and she began walking past him with folded arms. "I'm done with that, you know."

The man quirked a brow. As she brushed past him, he reached out and caught her quickly by the arm, spinning her round on her heels to face him. As they locked eyes, Eponine shuddered at how alike they were. They were both human, both with the same brown shaded eyes, with equally primitive instincts. They both had hearts, one working, one dying. The only difference between the two was that she had a bed to sleep in tonight.

That thought frightened her more than anything that could be found in the dark of night.

Almost as if he could sense her discomfort, Montparnasse leaned forward. Hot breaths tickled her ear lobe.

"Don't forget who you are, Eponine Jondrette," he whispered. "You are no better than any of us. Everyone's equal when they're dead."

At his words, Eponine tore her arm away and stepped back. "Stop it," she hissed angrily.

Montparnasse was unfazed, and simply removed his hat to present her with a low bow. "...Goodnight."

With those departing words, Eponine watched as he retreated back into the solace of the alley, seeming to sink into the darkness like air. It was almost as if he were a ghost, only to be seen by those deeply troubled souls.

A cold wind shivered against her skin. Reaching up to hug her body, Eponine took off in a hasty walk down the street. All the while, thinking of the ardour and friendly faces that would be waiting for her.

* * *

As soon as she passed the threshold of the café, Eponine felt at home. There was a warmth, a comfort which settled comfortably in her stomach. It truly put her at ease, knowing that this was her place now, and she would not need return to that dark life she once lived.

When she entered, she was immediately greeted with friendly faces.

Jehan was the first to notice her presence, and hurried over to throw his arm around her and grin from ear to ear.

"Eponine, daughter of moonlight, there you are!" he exclaimed. On close inspection, she could see the pink highlights in his cheeks. "Grantaire has too much to drink, and we're trying to disperse his keepings. Lend a hand?"

He extended a hand to her, grasping a half-empty bottle filled with the wonderful alcoholic substance. As soon as she laid eyes on the wonderful thing, she yanked it from his own hands and pulled it to herself greedily.

"Give it here," she barely had time to breath, before pressing it to her lips like she had not had a drink in days.

The men looked on, eyes growing wide as she did not stop for breath.

"Bloody hell, she drinks like a man," Joly exclaimed.

She placed the bottle back on the table, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She did not have the energy for more lady like manners this evening. "But I think like a woman, so I get the best of both."

Feeling someone tap her gently on the shoulder, she turned. Courfeyrac grinned at her widely.

"Glad you're back. Maybe you can get Enjolras to relax," he said, nodding his head over to the corner. Eponine's eyes wondered over, to catch a vision of Enjolras talking wildly at someone she'd never seen before.

On second thought, the more she looked, the more she realised that some of the men in the room she had never seen with the Amis before. Some were young, some were old, but together, it made the room feel a little smaller. Busier. The air was alive with excited voices and bustling bodies.

Courfeyrac, seeming to catch her curious gaze, replied with sparkling eyes, "New followers."

Of course. She should have guessed that they would gather new attention through their rallies. Today was busier than the last, after all.

"Gavroche stop by?" she asked. Through all the bodies, she could not catch a glance at the shorter, dirtier figure.

"Only in passing. He said he was meeting with some friends. Might come back later." He glanced behind him, to where Enjolras was standing. "You should see the fearless leader. He was asking if you had come back yet." With that, he smiled, and moved away from Eponine to go to Joly and Grantaire.

Eponine weaved through the bodies that moved with such hurry, they barely noticed her. It was only when she reached Enjolras and touched his arm gently, that she even brought him out of his distracted speech to realise she was there.

Upon seeing her, he turned, and caught her eyes in his. It was amazing, she often thought, how he could catch her on her feet simply by looking at her. "Everything alright?"

"Yes." She felt a smile tug at her lips. How wonderful it felt to finally be free. "I'm all yours, now."

She was unsure of why she had said it like that. However, for whatever reason that had prompted her to give him such a resolute promise, it seemed to resonate with him. She watched his face change, seeing his lips tug ever so slightly, before he remembered where he was and tried to subdue it. Yet his eyes still smiled, and he gazed back at her with a fiery joy.

He appeared to part his lips to reply, but was interrupted by Marius rushing over to steal Eponine's attention.

"Eponine!" His face was pink, and his eyes were wide with an untamed excitement. His hands were flying, moving with every word simply to spend his energy. "I must tell you, I saw the most wonderful sight today!"

Hearing Enjolras' frustrated exhale behind her, Eponine withheld an amused grin and turned to the jumpy young man. "What was it, Monsieur?"

"Not an it, Eponine, a she! A most radiant girl with hair like spun gold and cheeks like a rose. I don't even know her name. Or her address. But I will find her, Eponine. I swear my life by it."

Enjolras seemed to appear beside him then, sending him a straight look of sheer annoyance. "Swear your life by Revolution, Marius. Not some stranger whom you might never see again."

"I will see her again," Marius retorted to the irritated leader. "I'm going to search for her now." He glanced towards Eponine, and nodded towards the window. "Join me? It's awfully crowded in here."

Eponine shook her head. She had only just come from outside, and where she was standing was much more inviting. Besides, she had better things to do than help Marius find his mysterious lady love. "No, I'll stay. I need something else to drink. But good luck, Monsieur. It's a big city."

"Small in the eyes of love," was the young man's reply. Sending her a wide smile, he moved to leave.

When Marius had stumbled down the stairs, Eponine felt Enjolras standing behind her, and she turned to see his stony face watching after his friend.

"He's foolish, that one. Running off on some silly adventure," he mumbled. His hands twisted and clenched in frustration. She could see his desperation for order, his annoyance against any deviance for their cause.

Replying with a shrug, she chided the restless leader. "Leave him, he's in love."

Enjolras glanced down at her, his face rested in a mask of indifference. Although his eyes were frozen in a state of pure confusion.

"How can one be in love with a total stranger?" he challenged.

Eponine, who could not bring herself to fathom her response into words, shrugged. "It happens."

It was surprising to her that the revolutionary leader actually stopped to consider her thought. His eyes, as they always did, darkened in thought as he evaluated her statement. She tried with hold back the smirk that threatened to appear. Of course, he would be analysing her comment. That was what he did - he planned, evaluated, considered...there was nothing that he simply let slide.

When he seemed to emerge from his trance of thought, he looked to her.

"Well, since you approve, you can pick up his slack. Over there, the flyers need to be sorted."

Eponine turned slowly to look at the table behind her. Papers towered impossibly high on the surface, and the thought alone made her want to sulk. "So I'm a workman, now?" she asked, folding her arms over her chest.

Enjolras rolled his eyes, and placed a hand on her waist to gently guide her to the table simply pouring with papers. "Indeed you are," he retorted. He stopped her at the table, sent her a pointed look, and left her to her own work whilst he attended to another member of the Amis who had a particularly burning question.

Pulling out a seat for herself, Eponine began occupying with separating the posters from the plans. Whilst her hands nimbly worked as if with a mind of their own, her thoughts travelled to different topics.

It was strange, how comfortable she felt. Considering she had just ditched her sombre family life and found herself in the ambiguous world of the unpredictable, she was surprisingly calm. There was a deep comfort inside her, a kind of strength that she hadn't even noticed before. She knew, somehow, that she would be alright. There were people around that might actually care for her.

The more time went on, the more hope flickered inside her. Perhaps there would come a time when he would truly see that she loved him. Maybe even respond with a similar feeling. After all, there had to be some reason he had helped her so. Of course, he wanted her help and guidance with their revolution, and to observe her life. She had skills that were valuable, certainly, but surely there was some other reason he had stuck with her all this time?

Or was that just blind belief?

Sneaking a peak over her shoulder, she managed to catch sight of him in heavy discussion with Combeferre. His eyes were bright with ecstasy from his own words, and his loosened cravat exposed his strong neck and just a fraction of his chest in a manner that made a red hot blush creep up Eponine's cheeks.

How was it that in her life, she had never felt such a mixture of attraction and admiration for a man until now?

Yet she knew, in the deepest corners of her heart, that Enjolras was no man. No, he was much more. He was an idol; a pure deity of passion and liberty.

She was certain that if he left now, no man, or person for that matter, would ever feel the gap that he now occupied in her soul.

It was at least a quarter of an hour later that she tore her attention away from her thoughts. A frantic sound of feet against steps echoed through the room, followed by the high pitched cry of Gavroche. Only Eponine seemed to hear, however, as the other men never even looked up from their conversations.

"Everyone! Be quiet!" the pink faced young boy cried above the noise.

It was only when Courfeyrac, first to notice the young_ gamin, _called out across the room, "Listen everybody!"

That caught the ears of every man present. Eponine spun in her chair, turning to face the boy with curiosity. A deafening silence fell across the small room, awaiting to hear what he had to say.

Gavroche, releasing a few panting breaths, swallowed before he spoke. "...General Lamarque is dead."


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

**Many thanks for all the reviews you all left for the previous update. They're very sweet and I'm incredibly grateful. I hope you enjoy this (as short as it is).**

* * *

No sooner had the words left the excited _gamin_'s lips, had the entire room turned to Enjolras.

There were two sides to him at that very moment. The exterior, cold and indifferent. Unbending in the face of grief and the aftermath of being thrust into leadership. Then there was the interior, a swirling pool of emotions that bashed and battled within him. Loss, grief, fear, bravery, passion, confusion, but above all, loneliness.

The overwhelming sense of loss was strange. Enjolras had hardly known the man, and had never met him once. However, he was the very father of his ideals. In this sense, Enjolras had just lost the only person they had on their side.

Lamarque's death presented a unique opportunity. It was not unprecedented, but it was certainly unprepared for. The man who's beliefs had led them up to this point had died along with him, and now they would look to himself for leading.

Wild, brilliant young eyes watched the student leader as he remained still in his standing. Little did they know of the internal turmoil that was churning inside.

Without turning his head, he flicked his eyes towards Eponine in the corner. She, like the eyes, watched him. Only hers was not an expression of anticipation, but of sympathy. Yet within this, her dark brown eyes shone with a faint sense of loyalty. Perhaps he imagined so, but he could have sworn she had sent a faint nod his way. Almost an act of encouragement.

With that, he swallowed down a harsh lump in his throat and began to address his comrades. He found himself surprised at his own voice. It was stronger, more confident than he had imagined.

"Friends," he spoke. The room seemed to shake with the powerful tremor in his voice. "...The time is here. Lamarque might have departed this world, but he has left us a valuable spirit. We must continue his work. It is down to us now, to lead the world into the republic of liberty of which he dreamed. We are his name now, and we shall fight for him. When the people hear of his death, they will need guidance. The time to strike is now, when the blood runs hot in their veins."

He turned to the room, and not a soul spoke over his words. All were hanging on his every movement, his every syllable.

"Tomorrow, his funeral will be held. A public figure has a public departure, and so the streets will be filled. We will fill them with the people of France, and lead them into revolt. The National Guard will anticipate this, yes, but it our chance. They might have the authority, but we have the hearts and the minds of the citizens of Paris. There will be no time for cowardice. If there is any man present, who wishes not to fight, then speak now. They will not be exiled, or thought ill of, yet now is your only chance. Speak up."

There was then a terrible silence that ensued. He waited for the sounds of feet against wood, signalling the departure of a handful, or more of his men.

Yet, not a single figure moved. Instead, they watched him with stern faces. Faces of pride that were unwilling to give in to fear.

"...Very well." It was then that he moved forward, approaching the centre table. The movement was so sudden that it jolted several members of the room, who until that point had been so mesmerised by the young man's speech. "Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, I want you to circulate the streets and make contact with the other revolutionary groups. Tell them of our plan. Ready them. Instruct them to build barricades once they hear the orders tomorrow. The one policy to be ruled is that no women are to be included in this battle. I want everyone to know by dawn of our plan. We need numbers."

Spinning almost on his heel, he nodded towards some of the new comers. "I want you to continue making cartridges. We need more. Much more."

At this time, small murmurs of agreement had begun to be spread around the room. Nodding heads paired with voices of "Yes, Enjolras" had spread like wildfire, and soon, almost every person in the room was on the move with one task or another.

"Joly, Jehan, go to our associates and tell them to ready our weapons. They will need to be here by tomorrow morning."

"_Oui_, Enjolras."

"Gavroche, you are quick. Run and tell your _gamin_ followers to spread the message. We need every citizen in Paris to know to be there tomorrow."

"Got ya."

A familiar voice protruded above the rest. "And me?"

Enjolras turned and met the face of Eponine, who he had somehow forgotten amongst the sudden chaos.

"Eponine," he started, placing a hand on her arm to guide her towards the staircase. "I want you to go." Reaching into his pocket, he handed her a small note. "Take this to Monsieur Mallette down at the Rue de la Chanvrerie. Then you are to go back to my home, pack what you must, and leave these parts before morning."

The previous look of childish glee and excitement quickly died in her eyes. Stopping dead at the top of the stairs, she spun around and crossed her arms.

"Why's that?" she challenged.

"Because if you are to get out of the battle ranges before it begins, then you will not have much time."

Eponine, despite what he expected, simply sent him a smirk and a small shake of the head. Her voice was amused. "You're not getting rid of me that easy," she said, almost a laugh accompanying the words. "I'm staying, you know. I have just as much right to be here as you. I can fight just fine."

Her casual defence struck Enjolras cold in the heart like a douse of water. Of course, he expected this. Yet he was unwavering in his decision, and he was not joking when he had told Combeferre that no women are to be included. That meant all women, including her.

However, the sounds of the ABC Society rang out around them, and he knew he couldn't very well cause a scene here and now. Not at such a crucial time when there was work to be done.

This conversation would have to be held until later.

With a deep inhale, Enjolras spoke in a strained voice, "...Alright. In that case, finish your work and meet me back at my apartment in a few hours."

She seemed pleased with her work, thinking she had won. Paired with a small grin and a tilt of the head, Eponine proudly declared, "Done!" and spun on her heel. She was down the steps and out the door in a manner of moments.

Eponine for now, was content, but her words had only troubled Enjolras. Of course, she would want to fight, but how was he to prevent her from doing so?

There was no doubt in his mind that he would do everything to stop her from being there. Battle between men was fierce, and injury, no doubt death, was inevitable. She was not to be included in that. No, she meant something to him, something of dire importance.

Because of this, he had sworn to himself in that very moment her own protection. Her life, just as the lives of the people of France, were of greater importance than his.

Just then, he felt a clap on his shoulder. When he looked, it was the brilliant face of Courfeyrac that greeted him.

"Enjolras," he breathed. "We shall need to discuss a signal of some sorts for the procession tomorrow. So we are all aware of the starting."

The young leader nodded. "Yes. Yes, of course. If you'll excuse me for a few minutes, we'll discuss it when I return."

He began to move towards the steps, and a slightly concerned voice called after him. "Where are you going? Are you quite alright?"

Without turning back, Enjolras nodded, seemingly to no-one. "Yes. Just fine. Continue your work."

Without waiting to hear a response, Enjolras carried himself down the steps and outside the café, his shoulders weighted with the prospect of his most important job yet to come.

* * *

Whilst the inside of the café was warm, the outside was decidedly colder.

As soon as he had stepped outside, the young revolutionary wished he had remembered to put on his jacket. However, the cold could not draw him inside. If anything, the crisp, cool air would do him good.

The world was still awake, despite the takeover of night. Distant voices and sounds of life echoed around him. It did little to calm his racing mind.

Enjolras felt a cold sensation stirring inside him. It shivered his bones and ran up his spine with a single, clarified thought. He would need to rid himself of Eponine.

It would be the only way to guarantee that she would not turn up at the wrong time. He was no fool, and nor were any of the Amis. Battle meant bloodshed, and that in turn, meant death. It was an inevitable fact of life.

And yet, he had an idea that had stuck inside his head from the moment battle was even considered, and it was simple. This was not Eponine's path. If he were to die in the midst of battle, then he would do so with pride, but that was not her fate. No, she had to have a chance. Life had dealt her a poor hand, but there was no point in leaving behind a free world if people like her were not around to use it.

He decided there and then that he would need to make sure. He knew her better than anyone, and knew she was stupid and brave enough to get herself involved. It was just mad enough to appeal to her.

For some unknown reason, the thought pained him. It was clear that he would need to be certain of her disappearance. It would need to be something drastic. He would need to hurt her, and that twisted his stomach and caused his own mind to find reason against his very being. Yet it had to be done.

But how would he go about doing so? Eponine was strong, and brave enough to fight back against anything. So how could he, her very own subject, fool her into thinking she was not needed?

It was difficult, but not impossible.

He would just need to convince her that they were not worth her help. If she were to find no reason to take part, then she would leave. The poor are survivors, and defenders of their own pitiful lives. She would not waste it on men she thought not worthy.

He sighed, his shoulders sinking along with his heavy heart. He would need to make her hate him.

How could he do such a thing? She had helped him, dedicated herself to him. How was he to ever repay her when he was to hurt her so?

Suddenly, a thought struck cold inside his chest.

Perhaps this was cause of his reputation as the marble man. A cold, unwavering, unfeeling figure. Maybe it was not who his friends truly thought he was, but who they presumed him to be. Just maybe, they had named him such a thing, because that was who he needed to be.

The distant bells struck eleven, along with his mind striking a new revelation.

In order to see this through, he would need to become unfeeling. It would be the only way to lead his friends into the possibility of death, and the only way to effectively banish Eponine from his world.

Upstairs, a cheer could be heard from the open windows of the café. The Amis were ready - they were waiting. Eger to bring on new beginnings and new possibilities for the people of France.

Upon hearing this, Enjolras was decided. He had to be the leader they needed, now more than ever.

He straightened himself, not allowing himself one last moment of uncertainty. Beside him, his hands curled in resolution.

A marble man he needed to be; and so a marble man he would become.


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables. **

**Thanks for all the reviews, and I'm sorry for the wait. I should have some free time now, through, so expect more updates! Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Eponine arrived at Enjolras' home with a terrible disposition that was nothing less than joyful.

She was happy, and anxious. Their war was beginning, and everything they had been working for was happening. It was the beginning of a new dawn, a new world. A world in which people like her could get the chances that she had received through Enjolras' kindness. A place built for people like Gavroche, who could actually have the chance to live.

A place where perhaps, Enjolras and her might have a chance. That the concept of not simply him and her, but of _them _that could actually exist. For every moment they spent together, she fell deeper and deeper into an abyss of pure admiration and love for the young idealist.

She all but ran up the steps and to his door, hoping he would already have returned home. With all their progress in a single day, he must be in the greatest of moods.

However, once she swung open the door and beamed brightly at the figure standing inside, she felt the air around her tighten.

Enjolras stood by the window, his hands clutched tightly around the frame. She could see, even from a distance, that there was a tension in his stance - a stiffness in his form. Hardly the excited, bright-eyed person she had expected to see.

Upon entering, she cleared her throat. "I thought you might have stayed at the café. A lot of work to do, and so on."

Hearing her voice, he turned slowly. His face, placid and vacant. "...I thought it best to come home first. I knew you'd be back soon."

"Yes, well..." Even Eponine could not hide the slight hint of nerves in her tone at his strangeness. "The streets are empty, you know. I suppose word has reached the citizens and now they are preparing."

"Most likely."

Enjolras then stepped forward, and stopped at the table centred in the room. His hand hovered by his side, hesitant to touch the wooden surface.

"I suppose the others are still running about," she said. "They must be incredibly excited."

"All but Grantaire. He finds his excitement at the end of a bottle, not in revolution," he replied blankly.

She laughed, but the sound fell into silence when she realised he had not even cracked a smile.

No, instead, he was watching her. His face was like stone, cold and hard and completely void of any emotion. It was then that she began to feel the beginnings of worry trembling inside her chest. His strange behaviour was one thing, but this was something much worse. Never before had he looked at her like this.

"Enjolras?" she asked. Her voice was quiet, afraid. Anything that caused him to appear this way caused a great fear within her. She at that point had realised she would do anything for him. "Are you alright?" Reaching forward to touch his arm in a way she had done many times before, she almost jumped back when he flinched away from the movement.

His reaction was like a sharp stab in her stomach, gashing her insides.

The feeling intensified when he began to shake his head, slow and solemn.

"Eponine," he began. The words fell from his lips as stern and serious as they would have been if he were talking in a Amis meeting. "...I'm afraid we must stop this now."

Eponine felt her heart quicken. Yet she kept it from her face, choosing to tilt her head slightly and push forward a naive smile. "Stop what?"

"This silly game we have been playing." A tired sigh escaped from his lips and sunk his shoulders low. "I understand you have placed a large amount of time and effort into these past few days we have spent together, and I vastly appreciate that. The Revolution thanks you."

Eponine blinked. The words were going through her like air. She heard them, but they did not seem to register in her mind. "What are you talking about?"

"I apologise, I never asked about your payment before hand. However..." Acting as if he were speaking of nothing, as if every moment of this wasn't tearing her apart from the inside out, Enjolras reached into his pocket, and presented a handful of paper notes towards her. "...I think this should be enough. Ten francs. Should that suffice you?"

Eponine was horrified. However, like horror does in it's strange ways, it didn't show on her face. In fact, the only thing remotely suggestive of her inner breakdown at that very moment, was the tiny shakings of her hands at her sides. "I..."

The young man before her shrugged. "I thought it best to pay you tonight, since tomorrow will be extremely busy for me and my men." When she didn't take the money, he released a small sigh, as if annoyed by her slow uptake. The sound struck her like lightening, and she thought perhaps she might be sick. "Well?"

It was then that her mind began to function again. Her head snapped up towards him, and she narrowed her eyes. How cruel it was, she thought, that he play this game with her. For this must surely be a game, as she never believed for one minute he would actually treat her like this. Never would he hurt her to this extent.

"Stop it," she lowly muttered.

"I beg your pardon?"

Despite herself, Eponine stepped forward, her hand reaching out as if to touch him, to bring back her normal, kind Enjolras. However, she did not get any closer, in fear that something horrible might happen should she touch him anymore than she had already dared during their time together.

"Stop it, Enjolras," she repeated. Only her words were no longer spoken so much as whined, a pathetic sound that grew akin to a whimper at the last words. "Please."

Enjolras, however, did not seem to understand. Instead, he simply quirked a brow, staring down at her. She had never felt so small.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Mademoiselle."

In a haze of quickly rising panic, she began to shake her head. Any passer by would have thought she'd gone mad.

"This isn't funny. It is a good trick, but I've found you out now, and you can stop."

This time, Enjolras shook his head. A movement that caused Eponine to freeze as though ice had burned her body.

"This is no joke. Take the money, please." After a pause, he shoved the money towards her, and waved it in her face. "I am rather busy, so if you don't mind?"

The burning sensation of unshed tears began to sting the back of her eyes.

"How dare you," she muttered, as helpless and hopeless as she'd ever felt in her entire life. Her rising anger controlled her, and she found herself shoving his arm away from her face with great force. "You bastard!" A horrible sound rippled from her throat; simultaneous to a whine and a cry. At long last she began to feel tears fall down her cheeks, warm and wet as they stained her skin."I should have known you were nothing like I had hoped! How stupid of me to think that I knew you!"

Enjolras, whilst maintaining his expression of sheer cluelessness, seemed to flinch. His features twitched just for a second into something she couldn't catch. "I'm sorry?"

Despite how he had begun to untangle everything they had built together with simply a few nerves, he then had the nerve to reach out towards her, as if to touch.

As soon as she felt the feel of his fingertips brush her arm, she jumped back, flinging her fists against him in a fit of uncontrollable rage. "Don't touch me! No! Get away from me!" she cried, her voice straining painfully in her throat.

The young man looked as if he had been burned. Enjolras recoiled into himself, stepping back on his feet. For a moment, everything was silent.

It was Enjolras who spoke first. His voice was quiet, and there was shame concealed behind his words. "Please, do not take this to be a personal ma-"

The words froze on his lips as Eponine's hand broke the skin of his cheek. The terrible noise crackled around them, echoing through the hollow walls. Although he was perfectly capable of holding his own against a physical attack, Eponine watched as he did nothing in return. He took the slap, and wavered slightly on his feet.

There had been many moment in her life when Eponine experienced the same feelings she was in that moment. Anger, sadness, shame, fear...although they had never hit her with such magnitude. What pain could be worse than this?

How stupid she felt. She had gone and fell in love with the man, and thought perhaps in some silly, childish frame of mind that he might love her. He had taken her trust, her heart, and used it for his own gain. He made her feel worthwhile, and was now crushing that notion in his hand in front of her own eyes. Of course, she should have guessed, she was never anything more to him than a charity case.

An excuse for him to feel like he could relinquish some of the guilt his sad little rich mind had gained.

He had betrayed her, and she had never felt so foolish.

Her face was a picture of utter disgust. With cold eyes and stiff shoulders, she muttered towards him, "You're just as worthless as I am." The floorboards creaked as she stomped towards the door. Her quick movements flickered the candlelight, which threatened to submerge the room in total darkness. As she reached the door, Eponine paused between the threshold of his world, and the outside. Her world, which she would once again return as she arrived. Alone, and without a hope.

She looked over her shoulder, just catching image of the still figure in the centre of the room, standing silent and limp as he stared where she had stood.

The words scared her, but she could not stop herself. It all seemed true now.

The space between them had never seemed to quiet as she quietly hissed the words, "I might have loved you, Monsieur. But now I can only hate you."

She slammed the door behind her, and then she was gone. The halls never seemed so quiet as she gently choked on her tears, hurrying to leave that damned place behind.

Had she stayed, she would have heard the sound of paper notes hitting the floor in a quiet rustle. She would have heard the increasing breaths from the sole figure left behind. She would have heard the sound of angered growls and grunts as chairs hit the floor and fists hit the wall.

Yet she did not, and so she went to the street, shivering and alone.

Her heart was truly broken by the man who had revived it's long lost beating.


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

**Thanks again for all the reviews and feedback. Have a nice week!**

* * *

With heavy feet and an even heavier heart, Eponine found herself wondering past the river seine.

Tears had dried on her face, staining her cheeks. How she was dry, cold, and frightened.

As she moved along the side of the bridge, she could barely bring herself to even breath. Something had been knocked out of her, a confidence, a hope. Everything she had held previously in the past hour or so had been completely destroyed, and she found herself once again without a home, and without a friend.

Stopping to rest her weary legs, for she had been walking for a while now, she leaned against the stone of the bridge.

Her stomach ached, knowing that this was where she and Enjolras had embarked on their friendship. He had been so gentle, so unassuming, that it almost made her laugh. But the Enjolras she now knew was cold, rigid, and unwavering in his decisions.

She supposed she should be proud, after all, he was her work. However, it seemed a bitter blow to know that he had taken her teachings and used them against her.

He was just a scared boy, that she had made into a man.

How stupid she had been to fall for it - to fall for him.

Below, she could hear the rushing waters of the seine below her. The wind was cool enough, and the rough waters would be even icier.

Desolation now seemed too much, and the temptation was too great now.

She had considered it once before, during what may have been the pinnacle of her pathetic existence. This particular place had been known for this sort of thing, she knew. The waters below were cold and rough, and it should be a rather quick solution to her troubles.

After all, who would care, anyway? It wouldn't even make the paper. It would be just a thing that people talked about for maybe an afternoon.

_Did you hear about that girl who jumped into the river? _

_No, who was she?_

_Nobody important. Just some street girl. Probably down on her luck._

_Oh. So, what are we going to do this evening?_

That would be it. She would cease to be a person, and would become a story, a spirit. A shadow that once roamed certain places and spoke to certain people.

A cold wind whipped around her, and Eponine shuddered.

No, she could not do this. She could not let the people around her cause her to do such stupid things. She was strong, and had endured much. It would be pathetic now to give up. Not after everything she had suffered.

Leaning against the cool stone, she sighed with dejection. She was angry. Angry and confused.

She was so sure, so certain that he just might feel something for her. He had been so kind and warm. She had felt everything for him, and had given him everything she could in a haze of admiration and adoration.

Perhaps the most frustrating part of it all, was that even after what he had done, she could not bring herself to not love him.

It still hurt her, the idea of him. The prospect of what could have been. It was still painful to consider what would happen to him tomorrow. What would happen to her Enjolras? He might die, she knew just as well. They might have all died if she were there.

If he was gone from her life, she truly believed she had nothing to live for. She had given up her home, but not with regret. It would have only been a matter of time that she would have left her family. One can only take so much.

But now she was left in the dark. She had a poor chance of surviving now, and even if she had, what good was her life for? No person would ever truly befriend her, no one would ever really love her. She was nothingness in a world of moving shadows.

Enjolras, in a short time, had become her life. The force that kept her heart beating quickly and erratically. Now he was gone, and there was nothing she could do. This was no longer a world she believed she could life in.

At least if she could fight, she might perhaps die with the knowledge that it was an honourable death.

The raging waters below suddenly seemed to elevate in her mind, and the sound grew to deafening magnitude as realisation struck upon her.

There was still a way. It was risky, and stupid, and everything in-between, but it was enough. At least this way, she could help him. She could finish what she had started.

If Enjolras were to die, then he would not be alone.

She made her choice just as distant clocks chimed, another reminder of her shortening time before it would be too late.

He might have hurt her, but she would not take that as instruction. If he wanted her to leave, then so be it. She would not be at the barricade, not as Eponine. Still, he did not have to know it was her. If she could at least be there, to watch him. To protect him. She had to do her part, not simply sit aside and wait for word of her friends' deaths.

There was little hesitation in her mind from then on.

To die for love, in one's mind, is a satisfying end.

Before the bells had stopped ringing, the bridge was clear. There was no more sign of life, for she had disappeared, taking off in the direction of someone she knew would be able to help her.

The air was thick with resolution and an unknown future. Impending battles were on their way, and the dawn of a new day was hours away.

* * *

Enjolras had left his room soon after destroying what he could in his fit of rage.

He returned to the café. Everything in his mind were swirling accusations, mindless blows of self-hatred and bitterness for his own being.

And for everything, he still could find relief in what he had done.

Eponine would be safe. She was gone from his life, and away from his risks.

He tried not to pay mind to the biting pain at the back of his mind at the concept of her leaving. How he might never again hear her laugh, or see her irritated scowl when he became overly demanding. All those were things that he had once had, but could now never have again. It was his own doing.

It was a blessing that she had ever entered his life, and a curse that he had to rid her from it for her own good.

_"I might have loved you, Monsieur. But now I can only hate you."_

She might have loved him. The words sent his mind blazing and his chest burning and the possibilities of what she might have meant within her speech.

No sooner than moments after she had left had he wanted to run after her. He wanted nothing more than to stop her, grab her, hold her against him and tell her all the things he wanted to say but could not understand. How he did not want her to disappear from his life, and how she made him feel so completely frustrated, amazed, and utterly happy at once.

But instead, he let her leave, knowing that her safety lay in those last moments.

His furniture had hence suffered his wrath.

Although Enjolras had attempted to hide it well, Joly quickly noticed his friend's bruising knuckles just a few moments after he had entered their back room of the café.

Enjolras marched over to the nearest table, and attempted to involve himself in a conversation taking place. Yet he was unsuccessful in his try to move in without gathering too much attention.

"Mon ami!" the young doctor exclaimed. "What happened to your hand?"

Enjolras, barely looking up from his work, grumbled, "I engaged in an attack."

"With who?"

"The wall."

Enjolras straightened himself, determined not to let the conversation lead to _why _he had so brutally destroyed his home, and most certainly not _why _he had driven Eponine away. However, he still felt the many wondering eyes of the Amis upon him, silently questioning his fierce demeanour. Of course, there was no time for emotions now. He had done what he needed to do, and now he needed to be what was necessary. A leader, a revolutionary. A man. They might die tomorrow, and he would very well go gladly in name of their cause, but until then, he must cease to be as broken as he truly felt.

"I only returned to ensure that things were running correctly. Ensure you get some sleep tonight. Do not drink yourselves to waste. Tomorrow is coming."

As he moved to the stairs, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened at the touch like a man who had been burned.

When he turned, he was met face to face with Combeferre, who's brow was creased in worry, perhaps even concern at his friend's strange behaviour.

"Enjolras," he spoke in a hushed voice. "Are you alright? If it is nerves, you have no reason to-"

Enjolras shrugged his hand away, with more force than intended. He spoke with a voice that was both dismissive and harsh. "I am not nervous, Combeferre. Mind your words, will you? Worry about what you need to do by tomorrow. Do you understand?"

Combeferre looked taken aback, and moved away from the other man with his palms out turned, as if in a gesture of understanding. For a moment, he was silent, and simply studied his face with sincere curiosity. Finally, he replied quietly, "Yes."

"Good."

He paused at the stop of the staircase, having spotted a solitary figure sitting on the corner table, surrounded by several bottles. Of course, Grantiare had been there, and he had been watching. Enjolras suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable. How was it that Grantaire always made him feel so under scrutiny. He leaned over the barrier of the stairs, staring darkly into the dimly lit table.

"If you're going to leave, I suggest you do it now. Nobody has time for your antics tonight."

Grantaire, who had been watching him with an arrogant look of understanding, shrugged. "Why presume I'm leaving? I am part of this society, am I not?"

His words only deepened Enjolras' frown. Pushing himself away from the steps, he began to stalk over to the drunkard (who on this occasion, he noted to be surprisingly sober), and placed his hands firmly on the table. He leaned across to mutter into the air between them, "Listen to me, Grantaire. If you get in the way, I will not hesitate to throw you from this café myself. This is bigger than you or I. We cannot afford mistakes."

At this time, Enjolras had noted the sudden wave of silence behind him. Grantaire's eyes flickered from his to the audience behind them, and so Enjolras had no doubt that their conversation had attracted unwanted eyes.

It was at last Grantaire who seemed to break the long-lasting silence. "So, I'm a mistake, am I?"

Enjolras fell quiet. His eyes slowly dropped to the table surface, as if some invisible force were pushing his head down.

As the rest of the room watched on in deadly silence, his quiet voice seemed to break through the invisible barriers. "I did not mean it like that."

Grantaire, however, seemed only momentarily fazed. No evidence of insult or offence passed his features anymore that evening.

He simply shrugged, and mumbled, "Consider me a silent servant, Enjolras." When the young leader raised his head once more, Grantaire was smirking in his direction, a bottle raised in a salute. "At your command."

* * *

Crouched in a small, desolate corner of the tiny darkened room, Merlion Parnarde was busy with his work of tying together several pieces of loose string in order to make a rat trapper.

Outside, the rain had begun to pour, and for lack of a window, he was too getting soaked, despite being indoors. It made his job all the harder.

Peace was a rarity in a city such as Paris, and although half the city knew that tomorrow would bring war and bloodshed, the night had a certain tranquillity about it. The sky was dark and the air was heavy, and there was not much to be done but sit, wait, and hope for some tactical advantage by morning.

Whilst in the haze of deep thought, Merlion found his door being slammed open so hard it nearly shook the walls. He jumped back, dropping his strings, and banged his head against the wall.

"Ah!" he cried. He looked to the figure that had emerged from the doorway. "Eponine! Christ, what's got into you?"

Eponine hovered between the doorway, soaking from the rain and trembling with resolution. She had the eyes of a mad-woman, wide and frantic with determination and mindless disregard for what she was about to do.

Water pooled at her feet upon the already stained wood.

"Merlion," she breathed, her voice unnervingly calm. "…I need your help."


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

* * *

Eponine stood between two of the Les Amis, her head down, her eyes forward. They were focused sharply on Enjolras, the man she loved, the man she had followed mindlessly into what would soon be battle.

Beside Combeferre, he did not see her. Instead, he had fixated his on sharp glare onto the precession before them. His eyes were intense, dark, and almost unrecognisable. Gone was the man she had first met, and here stood the leader which she had helped create. She was proud, in admiration, and fearful of him all at once. Before her was a man with no second thoughts, no regard for consideration - just pure passion and strength for what was about to ensue.

She was not afraid. If anything, there was more excitement in her heart than feelings towards her current position. She was there for a reason, and she was strong because of it. She could not be afraid, not when she needed to be alert. She had but two aims at that point; to fright and serve her life if needed, and to keep her identity concealed.

Merlion had been good to supply her with the necessary disguise, and he did so without asking why she needed it. Although she suspected her had already known, yet chose not to say anything. Where was it in his place, anyway, to determine how she spent her life?

As she watched Enjolras carefully, she saw, in a quiet voice, that he had begun to sing. Summoning the rest to begin.

"_Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men…"_

Eponine's spine tingled with the sounds of quickly rising voices - people desperate to join, to prove their hope and dedication to the cause. She dared not look directly at Enjolras, fearing he might spot her despite her disguise, but still, she faced the procession and joined with the voices.

"_It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again…"_

Once Enjolras and Marius had leapt atop the carriage that carried Lamarque's body, she sprung forwards, following the other men that had planned to do so. It was then that she wished she had actually listened more at the Les Amis meetings, which would have prevented her now from looking like such a lost soul.

Above her, Enjolras shook his flag, which now seemed ablaze with the spirit of the people as they chanted together.

"_When the beating of your heart, echoes the beating of the drum…"_

"_There is a life about to start when tomorrow comes!"_

The singing fell quiet, and Eponine pressed herself against the carriage beside the other Amis. She could see the blue uniforms of the National Guard in the crowds. Should she look up, however, she could catch the bright red of revolution upon Enjolras.

She didn't believe she had ever heard such silence until then.

Her spine jumped when she heard the first shot ring out. A scream rippled through the suddenly confused crowds, and she whipped her head around. The sound was still ringing in her ears as she caught glimpse of the body.

The woman, older, innocent, had fallen dead. Outraged voices suddenly began to cry out, and she caught sight of Joly, Bahorel, and Courfeyrac running angrily into action, brandishing their guns.

Soon, all was chaos. More shots rung out, each one louder and seemingly closer than the others. She stuck with her back to the carriage as the National Guard began advancing.

For a few moments, she felt hopelessly lost in the mess of gunfire and yelling.

Suddenly, she heard Enjolras' strong voice call above the rest. It sounded almost like an angelic call from the Heavens, and she suddenly realised that he was in fact, no longer standing atop the carriage with Marius. Instead, he was now on the street, declaring in a voice above all others,

"To the barricades!"

Soon feet were running and bodies were moving as quickly as they could. She found herself trapped in the sea of moving bodies, and she ran quickly with them to avoid being trampled. The sounds of horses and angry cries were becoming more and more clear around them.

She ran with them, following the red of the flag that Marius carried on horseback. The rest sprinted together, racing towards where the barricade would be resurrected. She listened for the sound of the National Guard following, but nothing ensued. Instead, it was only them that ran to the Café.

Soon, everything had begun. Furniture was being dragged to the streets, and she could hear the loud voice of Courfeyrac calling up for more.

Their barricade was well on it's way to standing. Men were throwing furniture this way and that, and it seemed to be raining dangerous objects onto the street in aid of it's construction. Eponine was mindful of the downpour of chairs and tables as she helped form some sort of misshapen tower before the buildings.

Several times she turned to find herself face to face with a member of the Les Amis. One moment, she spotted Combeferre, who looked at her for a split second. She found her heart pulsing and pictured her entire plan falling into pieces. No less than a moment after she had thought so, the young man had turned and gave his attention to someone else.

She could breath again. Panic was her enemy now, she knew.

They all waited, listening to the sounds of the empty air for the noise of foreboding feet, marching men, guns at the ready. Yet it never came, and each moment that passed was like a stabbing in the gut - another prolonging of the inevitable.

Eponine kept her eyes on her only source of hope. Enjolras. She never spoke to him once, and watched from the shadows, or over the shoulders of other men, but he was no less magnificent. How wonderful now he seemed, so handsome in the face of battle. Even with Death overlooking them all, he was fearless.

Hours passed like the ticking minutes of a clock. Soon, the sky was darkening.

She had sat herself on the edge of a broken chair when the ruckus began. A man, who had earlier volunteered to cross the border to spy on the National Guard, had returned. Gavroche (who she had been watching, mildly entertained by the whole thing), had exposed his true identity. No man standing there could have been more simultaneously perplexed and terrified as Eponine in those few minutes.

"He's Javert!" the young boy cried, pride beaming in his childish features.

Eponine looked upon him closely. Yes, underneath the fake dirt and clothing, it was Javert. It was a sly, cruel trick, she thought bitterly. It was only until she realised that she had been doing exactly the same thing that she even thought to wipe the glare from her face.

Several figures moved at once. Javert, seizing a gun from one of the Amis, set it upon another. It was quickly seized, and he was dragged into the Café. She followed, unnerved at seeing the Officer's large frame being dragged by Enjolras.

Her heart all but stopped when he was flung aside and received a swift punch in the cheek by Javert.

She almost jumped forward, _almost_, to tend to him. To defend him. Anything that would satisfy her racing blood. But no sooner had she prepared to do so that Enjolras had regained control, and she watched in awe as Javert was flung to the ground.

Her eyes could not be torn away as her fearless leader brought the baton down in a swift blow to the head. His eyes were burning, furious and excitable all at once.

They chose to bind him to one of the pillars, and she had quickly moved to the doorframe as more of the Amis began filing into the room to find out what had happened. She remembered, she had to simply be a shadow; an observer at most.

It was then that they heard it.

It was faint, yes, but clear still. It was the sound of marching in the distance. It was quickly advancing. Even from afar it was clear - there were great numbers headed their way.

Eponine flinched into the darkness as Enjolras marched out of the café's warm, safe light. He did not pay mind to her, his dark eyes only fixated on what was ahead. From the peak of the barricade, a growing light began to pulse.

"Prepare yourselves," he suddenly declared. Another young man was quickly at his side, offering him a gun. "They are approaching."

As the sounds grew louder and louder, Eponine crept closer to the barricade. She reached for the gun that she had left at her seat, and weighed it in her hand. It was heavy, but that was nothing compared to the weight in her mind. She would have to kill tonight. For her own purpose, or that of Enjolras, she would most certainly have to kill.

The men of the Revolution froze behind the barricade, waiting.

The sound grew louder and louder, like the beat of advancing drums, until they stopped. Eponine glanced up at Enjolras. From her spot, she could see nothing. Yet his hardened face and stiffening shoulders revealed everything.

They were there. Just yards away - Death's soldiers.

Silence can occasionally be deafening. This was one of those occasions, she noted.

"Who's there?" a booming voice ordered.

As if cued, all men behind the barricade turned their heads slowly to the one man on whom they counted upon. Enjolras did not move, and he did not seem to notice their eyes upon him.

When he spoke, it was with a voice so powerful, so fearless, Eponine could have shed tears just then. He cried, "French Revolution!"

Barely a moment passed before it all began.

A loud booming sound echoed throughout the whole of Paris, it seemed. The barricade was hit with something, and shook like a frightened bird, shuddering with the impact. Eponine steadied herself, and began frantically climbing further up. Was that cannon fire?

She peaked her head over the side, just as the firing of guns began to rain around her. Horror flooded her veins when she spotted three large cannons pointed directly towards them. This was weaponry they could only dream of defending themselves against.

The gunpowder hung in the air and stung the nostrils of all those that breathed, and smoke began to sting eyes and drown senses. Eponine began shooting, firing at what she could in order to thin the numbers. Although she was not the best shot, she hit a few of her targets, and ducked when needed. Occasionally, she flicked her eyes to Enjolras, who was craned over the top to line his shots. His exposed nature shook her nerves to the point that they almost burst. She budged closer, readying herself to throw herself towards him shook it be required.

There was no fear inside her, only determination.

Other men struggled up the barricade to do the same; and she hissed quietly when she found she had nothing left to fire. She had run dry of her only weapon. Scrambling quickly to her feet, she shuffled down the construction and ran towards the Café, holding her hat down as she ran. She ran to where they kept the spare casings, and began to load it again.

Marius suddenly ran past her, the force of which nearly knocked her off her own two feet. She looked over her shoulder, watching him in his daze of sheer planning. In his arm, a case of gunpowder. In his other hand, a torch, not yet lit.

Her eyes widened as she watched him climb quickly to the top. She knew then, by the wild look in his eyes, just what he planned to do. She looked for Enjolras, to see if he knew just what his friend was planning to do. However, she found him at the bottom of the barricade now, yelling instructions to Combeferre. He had not noticed, and so she would have to stop him herself. Or at least, reveal his plan to the others. For she knew Marius, and knew he was stupid enough to go through with such an impulsive thing.

As he reached closer to the top, she saw another awful thing that frightened her even more. A guard, just rising over the other side of the barricade, had spotted him also, and has taken to steadying his gun on Monsieur Marius, who had not yet noticed.

Eponine threw her gun down on the table, forgotten for now. They could not continue without Marius, for he was one of the best men they had on their side. His death or injury would set them back dangerously. No, she could stop it - she had to stop it.

Not one man noticed the smaller, dirtier figure clambering up the barricade wall with hasty breaths and splintered fingers.


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

* * *

In a rush of desperation and speed, Eponine stumbled up the barricade wall, cracking her limbs against the broken furniture. She did not fix her eyes on Monsieur Marius, or the guard, but simply on the gun between them. As she reached the top, with a strength she never knew she possessed, she flung herself beside Marius, who seemed oblivious to his oncoming death, and clasped the barrel of the rifle between her nimble, shaking fingers.

A single thought flashed in her head just then. Not of her mother, or her father. Not even of Gavroche.

She thought of Enjolras.

Yanking the gun out of Marius' path, she drew it towards the centre of her chest, and drew in a quick breath.

Pain hit her instantly…only not in the heart like she had expected.

No, it was her side that suddenly burned.

Just as she waited that previous second for a bullet to pierce her skin and surely kill her, that a large force knocked her to the side, sending her into a table leg that stuck out. She collapsed against the wall, a gasp escaping her frightened lips.

She turned her head up to where she was just standing and felt her heart stop.

With his hands wrapped around the gun, lifting the barrel high to the heavens, Enjolras stood. His face was a picture of anger as he struck the soldier with the end of his own weapon, before jerking the rifle out of his hands. He brought his elbow up into the man's face, who yelped out in pain, and tumbling backwards to disappear on the other side of the barricade.

Eponine watched her saviour carefully. She watched his chest rise and fall with breathless pants, and his blood stained fingers shake with adrenaline. It was then she was reminded of how marvellous he was; standing tall and proud in the amber flames of dusk, darkened by shadows of gunpowder.

Now, he frightened her and thrilled her at the same time.

It caught her off guard when he turned his head down to her. Fear struck, knowing that he would recognise her should he get too close. Quickly pushing herself away from the debris, ignoring the pain shooting through her side, she flew from the barricade, tripping and stumbling until she reached the ground. She ran for the nearest alley, hoping he would forget her face long enough for him to be distracted.

However, as she ducked for the darkness, a strong hand grabbed at her arm tightly. She was spun around, and came close to his face.

He was staring at her fiercely. It was now she noticed the layer of sweat and blood painting his face.

"Watch yourself, boy!" he snapped. "Don't be so foolish, you almost killed yourself!"

Speechless, Eponine could do nothing but tug at his hand, desperately trying to free herself.

"Are you listening? We need every able man! You cannot simply go about doing stupid things!" his ferocious voice continued. He tugged at her arm once more, shaking her harshly.

It was then that she felt her head fall back in response, and a rush of cool air as her hat tumbled from her head. It fell to the floor with a small thump, and she quickly felt her long hair fall down to her back and around her shoulders.

Shame enveloped her instantly. She couldn't tear her eyes away from Enjolras, though she desperately wanted to. Sound seemed to disappear then, all noises of gunfire and shouting numbing into nothing but silence as she watched his face fall.

His features contorted several times. His jaw tightened and slacked many times before it finally fell still. Brilliant blue eyes narrowed, flickering across her face, falling to her body, turning hard at realisation… All the time his hand never loosened from her arm.

After what felt like hours of painful silence, he spoke. His voice was a choked whisper.

"…Eponine?"

The way he spoke her name made her want to face that gun once more. He made her feel so caught, so shameful.

"Enjolras," she whimpered in reply, hating her own fear. "…Please. Don't hate me for this."

The sound of her voice seemed to make him wince, and he dropped his grip from her as if the touch burned him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice deathly quiet. Quickly, he transformed, and began to glare into her. His voice grew in volume as he began to ramble in a rage. As he spoke, she found herself being pushed away from the barricade with his strength. "Why are you here? You should be far away from this. Get out! Get out now!"

"No! Please, Enjolras! Please! Let me stay!"

"Don't even try to argue with me!" he snapped in reply. "You-…You were about to die! I saw!"

Twisting herself from his push, she turned to him and replied in a rushed tone. "I know! Just listen! I came here for a reason!"

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?!" he spat. The sharp blue of his eyes seemed to cut through her like ice. "Is that it?! Are you doing this to spite me?"

"No!" she cried. A frown traced her features as she found her own anger rising along with the smoke of fired guns behind them. "You told me you didn't love me! That you could never love me! How was I supposed to live after that?!"

In a fit of pure irritation, Enjolras released a loud groan, before grasping her by the arms and declaring, "I said that to save you, you foolish girl!"

The pieces began to fall together in moments for her. Of course, it had not been true what he had said. How could she have not guessed? "…It wasn't true."

"Of course not! I said what I had to! More than half these people are going to die, Eponine. I was not about to let you become one of them."

The truth had exhausted her suddenly. With the strength she had left, all Eponine could do was shrug. "Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters! My own death I can accept, but I shall never forgive myself if I lose you!"

She withheld a groan. His increasing stubbornness was frustrating and the pain in her side now began to agitate her. "I'm nothing! I've accepted that I could die being here, and I'm alright with that."

"I'm not! How could I say it more plainly?" With both hands, Enjolras, with blood on his face and fire in his eyes grasped her by the shoulders. "I will not watch you die on front of me. I love you Eponine, and I won't do it. I love you."

Breath ceased to leave her chest as soon as the words left his lips.

The cold brick pressed against her back as he moved her backwards, slipping one hand to the back of her neck, and the other to her cheek. She was too tired to feel the moist slip of blood against her skin where he held her. She was too caught up in the feel of his warm breath against her lips to remember the pain in her side anymore.

She was too in love to care about the deadly battle taking place just beside them.

His eyes, hard and riddled with emotion fixed onto hers. In her mind, she forgot how to breath, how to stand, and the only thing she could bring herself to do was to reach up with trembling hands and lay one flat against his chest, feeling the dirt that had settled there. The other traced his jaw, learning the feel of his unshaven skin and strong bones that belonged to a man, yet feeling the frantic pulse underneath that was akin to that of a boy.

That was who he was to her. Two beings burning brightly as one form. A curious, questioning young boy with feelings and ideas he could not understand, and a powerful, brave, charming man that spoke every word like that of a prince.

And she loved him equally for both parts.

Thinking no more, she felt herself being pulled closer to him, his hands falling down to her waist where they held her firmly.

"I love you."

The words were spoken so quietly, so daringly, that she was almost sure she had imagined it.

Then, with a sudden haste, he brought himself to her. Eponine's eyes fell closed as their lips touched.

It was so soft. Lighter than air, and lasting only for a heartbeat. As he pulled away, a fear unlike anything she'd ever known clamped down on her heart. She opened her eyes, afraid that she might see disgust in his eyes, or realisation that she was worth nothing. But as she looked, she saw his face so close to hers. His eyes were shut, and his lips were parted, panting hot breaths on her skin that made her shiver. His features were wearing the light traces of a frown. He appeared deep in thought.

Eponine's lips felt empty. She could not help but feel selfish, hungry for another kiss. In her life, she had never felt this way before, and regardless of how she looked, she could not have cared less about her behaviour in that moment. Her hands moved from their current predicaments and reached up, tangling into his hair and tugging on it with a force she could not control. He was pulled down, and once again their lips were touching.

Only this time, it was not soft. As their mouths collided, Eponine found herself falling backwards further against the wall, Enjolras' arms flying out beside her, trapping her against his warmth. He did not pull away, and only moved to kiss her back with a firmness that made her skin burn.

She felt her soul alight.

It was only when they eventually pulled apart and she saw the creases of concern in his face that she even realised she had begun to cry. Not noisy, physical sobs - it was simply the pattern of hot tears falling from her eyes. Confusion began to spin her mind. Why was she crying? She was not sad, nor was she in pain.

Perhaps it was the shadow of death around them, or even just the energy that had been drained from her so suddenly. Either way, she found that she could not stop the tears. She had only thought he'd love her in her dreams, and never in her bitter reality.

Yet she barely had time to contemplate further, for she soon found herself being pulled against Enjolras, where he was pressing her warmly against his chest and enveloping her in his strong arms.

"Please don't cry, Eponine," came his whispered voice.

"I'm sorry," she cried, hastily wiping her tears against her muddy sleeve. "I was going to leave. But I couldn't. I could not walk away and let you fall. I love you, Monsieur Enjolras, and if you must die, then so will I."

Watching the conflict and thoughts pass over his features, Eponine waited. If he dared send her away now, she could laugh in his face. Yet, if he promised to go with her, she would leave in a moment. Where he went, she was to go too, even if it was into the dark abyss of Death.

At last, he spoke, his face twisted in the dark hesitation of his compromise. "If you are too stubborn and stupid to leave-" He began, throwing his head over his shoulder to glance at the massacre behind them. "-Then at least listen to what I ask. Stay here. Do not move. Do not come out. I will meet you here when it is over."

Finding nothing else in her, she nodded. It was fair. She would wait, and he would return to her.

She wanted to speak - wanted to talk to him, reason with him. But she could not find the words stumbling about in her mind. Soon he was pressing his lips to her forehead, squeezing her hands gently, and moving away. Her hand clasped his in a silent plea, but he did not respond.

Instead, she was left, reaching the air for where his hand had been, completely and utterly alone.


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

* * *

"They've retreated, for now," Combeferre quietly mumbled to Enjolras as they walked towards the base of the barricade. "They won't stay back for long. What do you propose we do? Our casings are damp from the rainfall. We're running out of ammunition."

"I know, Combeferre," Enjolras snapped in reply. "For the moment, just...tend to those who need it. The wounded need us."

Enjolras looked upon his friend, who was know seeped in blood and gunpowder, and withheld a wince. Already, they knew many who were hurt, a number of which who were dying, or perhaps already dead.

Combeferre nodded, and quickly left to adhere to his orders. Now alone, Enjolras crept along the base of the barricade and paused at a decapitated table. It was here that he leaned against the side to steady himself. After what seemed like hours, he finally managed to inhale.

"Oh, Eponine," he breathed, so quietly, he barely heard himself.

He should have known that she would be so stubborn as to endanger her own life for his sake. How had he been so neglectful to not notice her? He thanked the stars that he had caught her at the end of the National Guard's gun. Had he not seen, she would have been shot. Killed, even. The thought sent painful shivers down his spine. So many feelings had transpired through him the moment her disguise had failed her. Anger, fear, bewilderment...it had all passed through him like ice, freezing his nerves and thoughts.

Then again, perhaps there was a part of him, the tiniest, most selfish part of him that had been thankful at the chance to speak to her once more. At least now, he could rid himself of the guilt that had haunted him. He had told her such hurtful things, and at least now he had the chance to correct them. To be honest with her. To speak a truth that even he had not been able to access until the words had left his lips. He loved her. Oh, how he loved her.

He prayed that she would listen to him and stay put. Only then would she have a chance of escaping this in one piece. The idea of her waiting for him might just give him strength to lead the others into victory. They were outnumbered, yes, and they were low in weaponry. Yet their pride and their passion was unwavering, and it was enough to keep them going despite the immediate face of defeat.

Whilst the rest of the Amis gathered themselves, Enjolras moved to the door of the café. Inside, the bodies of many wounded lay. Joly was inside, tending to their injuries. After a moment, the young student looked up and caught sight of their leader standing before him, and sent him a small smile. Though Enjolras was not fooled - it was more a grimace than a smile. The expression of man who was tending to those nearly dead. His friends that were slipping from life with nothing to help them.

He gritted his teeth. The death of those he already knew of hung over his head. His insides screamed at him, accusations of the most vile nature. Who was to say who else would be killed while this lasted.

As if hearing his own internal turmoil, the sound that came next was just as horrific as the sight of anarchy itself.

"Gavroche!" a voice shrieked. Courfeyrac.

Enjolras spun on his heel, turning towards the barricade. His blood froze. Before him, several men were clambering up the defence, clawing at Courfeyrac, who was desperately trying to throw himself over the edge. He was reaching towards some unseen figure, his face twisted into a painful expression of grief.

"Stop, Gavroche!" he cried.

Suddenly finding strength to move once more, Enjolras sprinted towards the edge of the barricade, and ran around the side to stand behind the pillar of a nearby building. The sight that met him was enough to knock the wind from his chest.

Sure enough, Gavroche had found a way into the warzone, crouching on the ground beside bodies of the National Guard. He grinned to himself as he stole cartridges from their corpses.

_No, _Enjolras thought in a panic. He must have heard Combeferre explaining their lack of defences. What a stupidly brave boy.

Feeling someone behind him, Marius perhaps, Enjolras tried to grasp the attention of the _gamin_.

"Gavroche! Get back!" he hissed.

More cries and demands from the other side of the barricade flooded the air in the following moments. Gavroche took no notice, however, and continued on his merry task.

"Get back here, now!"

Enjolras felt helpless now as he watched. The young boy turned his head and bared a wide smile towards him - no fear in his eyes. It was a sight that haunted Enjolras. Just then, a shot rang out, heavy and deafening. The bullet may as well have hit him, as he jumped back with such a jump at the vision of Gavroche stumbling back as the bullet pierced his shoulder.

"Oh God, Gavroche!"

Gavroche quickly picked himself up and continued on his task, throwing casings over the barricade wall, and smiling widely as he did so. Enjolras felt the skin under his nails burn as he gripped the stone pillar tightly in tension. He wanted nothing more than to throw himself out there, grab the boy and run back that very moment. Alas, he knew that one step out there and there would be hundreds of bullets coming his way before he could even reach the boy. Warning shots were being fired at Gavroche, but he himself would not have that same luxury.

When the third shot had fired, it was barely enough time for his heart to beat before Enjolras watched Gavroche fall to the ground in a still slump.

He waited. Waited for the sounds of Eponine's cries, or the sound of her feet pounding across the ground as she ran towards them. However, they never came, and he was left waiting for any sign that she had even seen the attack.

Perhaps she had left, he hoped. Perhaps she had not even been a witness to the _gamin's_ demise.

The Amis watched painfully as an older, grey haired man stepped out calmly, picking up the boy's dead body, and took him from the path of gunfire. Enjolras realised he had neglected to learn the man's name, but at the time, introductions seemed meaningless. Gavroche had died, and under his watch. It was his fault.

"Enjolras," he heard Marius whisper from behind him. Enjolras seemed to awaken from his mindless stupor to turn towards his comrade. He then realised that Gavroche had been cleared, and he had been simply standing there in the aftermath. The others had begun to recover, all but Courfeyrac, who had fallen to the ground beside Gavroche's quickly paling body, tearful and shaking.

"Marius," Enjolras replied, breathless. "...Regroup, will you? We must...ready for the next attack."

Marius, sensing his leader's silent despair, nodded willingly. "Oui."

Once he was alone, Enjolras crept around the crowds of men towards the alley in which he had left her. He needed to make sure, just had to be sure, that she was alright. It was an instinct that seemed second nature to him now.

When he found her, a sigh escaped him, and he found himself wordless. Lost in a sea of apologies and self-hatred.

Her small body was cradled in a foetal position against the damp wall, her chin pressing against the back of her hands in a moment of rest. As his shadow passed over her eyes, she glanced up, quirking a brow towards him. No tears, nothing even akin to sadness. Enjolras watched quietly.

"...Is he dead?" was the only thing she asked.

Enjolras nodded, the small movement seeming to dig daggers into his stomach with every jolt.

A large sigh sunk her shoulders. "...Alright. At-...At least now he might be safe."

For once, Enjolras had no clue as to what she was referring to. Ensuring that nobody was watching, he moved around the corner, and sunk to the ground beside her. "What do you mean?" he questioned.

"Now he won't go hungry. He won't have to fight to stay warm or dry. Was he brave?"

"Extremely." Biting down on his lower lip in consideration, Enjolras could feel blood being drawn. "If you like...I could perhaps sneak you in. To see him."

She shook her head. "No, it's fine. It won't be him, anyway." Slipping her hand towards his, she placed her small fingers around his palm and squeezed. "Thank you."

Enjolras held her hand as if it were the only thing to keep him from sinking into a dark abyss of guilt. Drawing her hand up, he placed his lips softly against the rough skin.

"Do you still think you might win this?" she asked after a while. Silence seemed impossible now, for even the sounds of panic were beginning to float over from the scene of chaos.

"I'm not sure, Eponine. ...I think we can still try."

"You are so brave. How is that?"

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. It was false, and completely self-loathing, but it was there, none the less. There was only one reason for his bravery, and that was because she needed him that way. His friends needed him to be so, and if not, then all would fall apart. All bravery was an act of façade, and nothing more. It was a selfish kind of courage.

"Because I know that if I were afraid, they would be too."

Eponine gave him a soft smile in return, and placed her hand gently upon his knee. It was only then that he realised how much he honestly hoped that there might be a way for them both for walk out of this. If there was a way for them to perhaps embark on a life together.

"Maybe you could teach me one day," she said, speaking in a soft voice.

"I think of all people, you certainly do not need to be taught bravery," he replied earnestly. After a moment, the sounds of advancing feet began again, like a requiem of drums. Hearing his name being called from the barricade, Enjolras reluctantly released her hand and began to push himself up from the ground.

"I should return."

Eponine wrung her hands together, biting down on her lower lip. She was a figure created from nerves in that moment. "Is that another attack?"

Enjolras, sensing her disturbance, crouched down once more to clasp her chin with his fingers and tilt her head towards his. He did not want her staring into the scenes of horror behind them. He wanted her cling to any resonance of hope she might have buried. She frowned, and swatted his hand away from her, but he still found a moment to smile in bemusement. Of course, she would not want to be treated like a child. Why would she? Never before had he found reason to. It would be shameful to do so now.

Instead, he slipped his hand around the back of her neck, and pressed his lips against her forehead.

"Stay here," he muttered, catching her eyes in his as he rose from the ground. They were as ever, dark and never ending. Endless pools of warmth and wisdom that he admired so much.

He left her again, this time, hiding in the shadows, with nothing but the sounds of the chaos around them to determine the progress of the fight. With his kiss still lingering on her skin, she waited. Impatient and anxious.

Enjolras reached the barricade just as the National Guard was beginning their forceful next attack.


End file.
